


The Flash, The Girl, and The Cop

by Pickwick12



Category: The Flash (TV 2014), westallen
Genre: F/M, westallen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 02:58:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 69
Words: 71,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2491955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pickwick12/pseuds/Pickwick12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All about Barry Allen's life with the Wests from childhood to the present. Will contain WestAllen as it flows with the show. </p><p>This story functions as a companion story to my story "Wally," but it's not necessary to have read that to understand it. All stories in this group follow show canon (won't have things happening to characters that conflict with established facts as they currently stand).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Age Eleven

Age Eleven

"Baby, how would you feel about Barry staying here for a while?" Iris sits in her Daddy's lap, fingering the soft satin material of his necktie.

"That would be cool," she answers. "I always wanted a brother."

"This—could be a little different, Sweetie," her father continues. "You know what happened to his family, right?"

"Uh huh," she answers.

"Barry still—he doesn't like to remember it how it happened, so if he says something weird, try not to react too much, ok?"

"Ok, Daddy," she answers, leaning against his chest.

That night, Barry Allen and all of Barry Allen's emotional baggage move into the West house. Iris doesn't talk a lot. She tends to be shy around new people, and she's only met Barry a couple of times, down at the police station.

He doesn't have much stuff with him. A lot of the things in his family's house have been confiscated for evidence. But still, it's all boy stuff—cargo pants and comic books and posters of cars and planes, which fascinates her; she likes the things people call boy stuff, sometimes. Her dad helps Barry put up a few things on the walls, to help him feel a little bit more at home.

Iris retreats to her room after a while, not sure where she's needed in the moving process. Maybe, she thinks, it's easier if you get a brother the normal way. Then he has to like you, or at least tolerate your existence.

Tap tap tap

Someone knocks on her almost-closed door. "Coming, Daddy," she says.

"It's Barry," says the voice on the other side, and she opens the door to reveal her new foster brother, with comic book in hand.

"Hi, Barry," she says.

"Hi, Iris," he replies. "Your dad told me you like Superman, so I brought you this."

"Thanks," she answers, taking it from him carefully.

"Also—" he hesitates. "Thanks for letting me live here." He hightails it back to his new room, and Iris smiles to herself, hugging her new comic book.

\---

Barry likes living with the Wests. At least, he would if either of them believed him. He can see in their eyes that they both think he's delusional whenever he mentions the night of his mother's murder. Joe tries to get him to admit the truth; Iris doesn't say anything.

The script plays out pretty much the same way every single time. Barry runs; Iris tells; Joe comes. The boy doesn't blame Iris. In fact, some subconscious part of him is glad whenever Joe's police car comes up next to him, outpacing his running form. Not that he realizes it consciously.

After another "I hate you," Barry storms off to his room, missing the irony that Joe West is the only reason he has a room. Except, he doesn't miss it for that long.

Iris bursts into his room without knocking. "Barry Allen, what is wrong with you?" Her eyes flash fire. She may be a kid, but she can certainly be scary when she wants to be.

"Huh?" Barry sits up on the edge of his bed, glad that he hasn't let his unshed tears out. He doesn't want Iris to see him cry.

"Why do you treat my dad like that?"

"He won't believe me, Iris. I hate him."

Iris sits next to him on the bed, her shoulder touching his. "No, you don't. My dad is the only reason you have somewhere to live that isn't a group home."

"I wouldn't expect you to get it," Barry retorts. "You're little miss perfect."

"Shut up," says Iris, but she hugs him, hard, before leaving his room.

Iris leaves Barry's door cracked open, the way Joe prefers it, and the boy is about to close it all the way when he hears low voices outside in the upstairs hallway.

"Did you talk to Barry?" Joe's voice asks.

"Yeah," Iris answers. "Don't be too hard on him. He's about to cry."

Barry shakes his head. How does she know? How does she always know? He doesn't have long to ponder before Joe barges in, in exactly the same manner as his daughter. "Hey, kid," he says. Barry stretches out on the bed, turning his face toward the wall, hoping it will dissuade the policeman from invading his space.

No go. Joe West moves his feet over and plops down on the end of the bed.

"Should I start packing?" Barry asks.

"What?" Joe replies, clearly confused.

"I figured one of these times, you'd send me back."

With that, Barry finds himself forcibly turned around by two huge hands. Joe sits him up, not letting go of his thin shoulders. "You listen to me, Barry Allen," he says, "I'm. Never. Going. To. Send. You. Away." He punctuates each word like it's the most important one in the world. "You, me, and Iris are a family now. Don't tell me I'm not your father. I know that, kid, but I'm going to take care of you, whether you like it or not."

Joe finally lets go, and Barry can't hold the tears in any more. After all, he's not really that tough. He just likes to act like it. He settles back onto his bed, sobbing into his pillow. Joe doesn't say anything else. He just rubs circles onto the boy's back and sits with him until he's cried out.

\---

Two weeks later, Joe takes Barry to Iron Heights. He doesn't really blame the kid—not for any of it. He's never had a chance to find any kind of closure with the father he idolized.

It's ugly, just as the policeman knew it would be. At least they let father and son have a forbidden hug. Joe has wanted to hug Barry lots of times, but the boy wouldn't let him, and he refuses to force the issue.

The ride home is silent. Joe ventures a gentle, "Want to talk about it?" but is met with nothing, not even a look in his direction. He lets it go.

They get home to Iris before dinner time, and Joe notices something weird: Barry cleans his plate, and he puts it in the sink, no reminder needed. The next morning is even stranger. The kid gets himself up for school and goes through his entire morning routine without a single complaint or missed step. It's like Joe suddenly has two Irises in the house, not his sweet daughter and a troubled boy who doesn't want to be there.

The next day, it happens all over again, and Joe is so confused he corners Iris while Barry is in the shower. "Sweetheart, have you noticed anything weird about Barry?"

"No," she answers, shaking her head. "He seems ok."

That's the weird part, Joe thinks. He seems ok, and he shouldn't be ok, not after what the policeman witnessed in the prison. Still, the good streak continues all week, and Barry doesn't try to run away even one time.

Finally, Friday rolls around, the day Iris and Barry take the bus home and wait an extra hour for Joe to finish paperwork at the office. He comes into the house, tired from his day, and finds Iris nowhere to be seen and Barry on the couch, motionless.

"Where's Iris?" is his first question.

"Upstairs doing homework," the boy answers listlessly.

"Don't you two usually do your work together?" Joe asks, trying to figure out if his kids have had a fight of some kind.

"I told her I wanted to wait for you alone," Barry answers, not looking at him.

Joe sighs and sits on the couch next to the little boy. It's time for the other shoe to drop, he figures. "Did you get in trouble at school?"

Without answering, Barry hands him a sheet of paper. It's a spelling test, and at the top it says, "93% B+ Great job, Barry."

"I'm sorry, Joe. I'm really sorry!" The boy's voice breaks.

"Huh?" asks the policeman, more confused than ever. "This is a really good grade." He takes a big hand and cups Barry's chin. "What's this about?"

"I should have gotten a hundred," Barry says, his tears brimming over. "I studied REALLY hard!"

"Nobody's perfect, son," Joe answers, hoping this is the issue and that he can easily fix it. But Barry just cries harder.

The policeman thinks back through the week, trying to understand. He casts his mind back to Iron Heights, and it's then that it hits him. "This is about what your dad said, isn't it?" He asks. The boy nods between his sobs.

"That's why you've been so perfect all week," Joe continues, "because your dad told you to be good."

The kid leans forward and buries his head in his knees, but Joe West has had it. "C'mere," he says, not giving Barry a choice. He's about twice the kid's height and three times his strength. For the first time ever, he pulls Barry Allen into his lap and holds him.

For a few seconds, the boy fights, but then he settles into Joe's arms, and the policeman shifts him to a comfortable position against his chest. "Barry, what your dad wants most is for you to be happy. I'm sure about that. That's what I want and what Iris wants, too. You don't have to be perfect. Just be a kid."

Barry doesn't answer, but his sobs gradually subside. Joe continues to hold him, trying to communicate with his arms what he doesn't know how to say. After a while, he looks down and sees that the boy has fallen asleep against his shoulder. As carefully as he's ever held Iris, Joe picks him up and carries him to his bedroom, laying him gently on his bedspread.

"Joe," says a sleepy voice, just as he's about to leave the room.

"Hmm?" he asks.

"Will you come back when it gets dark?"

"Of course I will, son. Just like I always do."


	2. Age Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of Barry's life as part of the West family, with its ups and downs.

Age Thirteen

Barry is grounded. Iris knocks lightly on his door, hoping to ease the tension between her foster brother and her father, once again, the way she always does.

"It's me, Barry," she says, coming into his room, which is now covered in science posters and has a desk with a microscope on it beside his bed, a Christmas gift from her and her dad the previous year.

"Hey, Iris," he says. He's sitting on his bed reading a biography of Thomas Edison, trying to look like he doesn't care that he's just had another epic fight with Joe West. Iris knows that look. It's a look that says he's almost ready to apologize, but not quite.

"What set you off this time?" she asks, sitting in his desk chair.

"Same thing," Barry admits, shutting his book. "He—said if my dad comes up for parole, he's going to testify against him, thinks he shouldn't be out."

Iris shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Barry. You know I believe you—now, but my dad, he's not big on the unexplained. He saw what he saw. He doesn't mean to hurt you. Even the parole thing—that's to keep you safe. He doesn't want you to get hurt any more."

Her foster brother's eyes flash, and she sees a mixture of anger and tears. "He should mind his own business sometimes," he mumbles. Iris just looks at him, and in a moment, he adds, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"Then go tell him," she says. She's not usually so bossy, but she knows when to play her cards where Barry Allen is concerned.

"I'm not ready yet," he sulks, and she can't help smiling.

"Want a hug?"

"Ok," he grouses, and she wraps her arms around him.

"Just remember, I believe you," she whispers in his ear.

\---

Barry waits another twenty minutes before trudging back downstairs to face Joe. It always seems so reasonable to be mad at the guy, but then Iris comes, and he's forced to remember that everything he has and is, he owes to the tall, strict cop.

"Barry," greets Joe, looking up from his newspaper.

"Joe," answers the boy, staring at the carpet.

"Something you want to say, kid?" The detective waits.

"M'sorry, Joe," says Barry, as quickly as he can. "I shouldn't have cursed at you."

"That's right," Joe agrees. "But I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have sprung the parole thing on you like that." Barry looks up, surprised. Joe has never apologized to him before.

"Yeah, I mess up too, son," admits the older man, smiling.

"It's—ok," says Barry.

"All right," says Joe. "I'll make you a deal. You're still grounded, but if you give me a hug, I'll cut it down from six days to three. How does that sound?"

Barry walks over slowly and a little bit sheepishly, but he really doesn't mind. The Wests are huggers, and he's learning to be one too. Joe wraps him in a bearhug, and he can't help grinning in spite of himself.

\---

Joe orders pizza for dinner. There's probably some parental law against getting pizza for a kid who's grounded, but frankly, he doesn't care. He still feels guilty about how easily he lets Barry push his buttons. It shouldn't be that way, but when he sees the boy, with his big eyes and serious face, he just wants to shield him from all the pain in the world, including the pain brought about by his own father, but the kid is dead-level determined not to give up his illusions.

"Pepperoni, jalapenos, and olives," he says into the phone. It's the kid's favorite. And Barry is a good kid, issues aside. He's as smart as Iris, which is saying something, and he's kind. As a cop, Joe interacts with a lot of kids who have troubled pasts. Very few of them are as respectful and responsible as Barry Allen.

It's just that, well, Barry has become his kid, and Joe West doesn't take that responsibility lightly. If he were watching from afar, it would be easier to retain the professional detachment he finds necessary to cope with his day-to-day duties. But Barry belongs to him, and that's the problem. He just wants to put a smile on the kid's face, to wipe away the memories that no one can erase. And he can't. That's what makes him angry—not at Barry, but at the ugliness in the world.

Still, there's no ugliness to be found when the three of them sit down to dinner. Barry's eyes light up like it's Christmas, and Iris gives her father the special smile she reserves for moments when she approves of what he's doing so much she could burst.

All in all, it could be worse. Joe West knows he isn't perfect, but for one night, he has two happy kids. He figures he might as well be happy too.


	3. Age Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry tries to turn down a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but Joe and Iris West won't let him.

Age Fifteen

"Barry, that's amazing!" Iris says, staring wide-eyed at the invitation letter in her foster brother's hand. "Mr. Paulsen says the Belvedere Science Camp is the best one in the country! You'll learn so much there."

"I know!" he answers, grinning.

"I'm so proud of you," Iris adds, as the two siblings walk out of the school building and toward the place where Joe's car will be waiting.

Barry can't stop looking at the letter, and she doesn't blame him. All of his hard work is paying off, all the hours he spends in the science lab and studying at home. He deserves this, she thinks.

"Iris, I—can't go," he suddenly says, as they walk arm-in-arm across the asphalt parking lot.

"Why not?" She asks, bewildered by his sudden change of mood.

"It's really expensive," he answers, deflated, pointing at a number at the bottom of the letter, right under the words "Entrance Fee."

Iris stops walking and faces him. "Barry, you know my dad will pay for it. I mean, we're not rich, but this is a big deal. He'll be so proud."

"Iris, I'm not telling him," Barry intones, staring at the ground.

"Then I will," she says.

"Please, Iris," he pleads, "let me make my own decision."

She wants to say no, but when she sees the look on his face, she can't. "All right, fine, whatever."

\---

Barry tries to be normal on the ride home, to push down the crushing disappointment he feels. He wants to go to Belvedere more than anything he's ever wanted—other than to turn back time and bring his mom back.

But he can't ask Joe West for that kind of money. Not when he thinks about the last four years, years when he should have been either fending for himself in a group home or being transferred between foster home after foster home.

And what does Joe have to show for all of his efforts? Barry can't help remembering all the days of running, trying to get away from the only person who cared enough to chase him.

That's why, when he gets home, he waits until the detective is upstairs and throws the letter away in the kitchen trash, right under the previous night's litter of Chinese takeout boxes.

\---

"Dad, look in the kitchen trash. I can't say more."

Joe West stares at the handwritten note that Iris's fingers have just shoved under his bedroom door and then puts down his novel and makes his way back downstairs.

He opens the bin and finds the remains of his Sesame Chicken from the night before, but he hasn't made detective for nothing. He fashions a makeshift glove out of a paper towel and roots deeper into the morass of garbage. That's when he catches the name of Barry's and Iris's school on the outside of a food-stained envelope, and he gingerly pulls the letter out from under the refuse.

Joe West is about prepared to go postal on whichever kid decided not to show him a note home from school, but when he takes out the unmarred letter inside the envelope, it's not what he expects at all.

"Barry, can I come in? We need to talk." He's at the kid's room within five minutes.

"Sure, Joe," answers his foster son, opening his door and looking a little too eager.

The older man sits on the end of Barry's bed, like he always has, right next to the kid. "Son, can you explain to me why I just found an invitation letter from the Belvedere Science Camp in my trashcan?"

Barry's face falls. "It's no big deal. I don't even want to go."

"Barry Allen, do you think I'm an idiot?"

"No, Sir," comes the nervous reply. "It's just—it's a lot of money, and I know it's too much."

"Like this much?" Joe takes a check out of his pocket and puts it into Barry's hand. It's made out for the exact amount specified in the letter.

The boy's eyes widen. "Joe, I can't take this."

"Why not?" asks the detective, putting his arm around his foster son and pulling him closer. "I'm proud of you, Barry. You've earned it."

"But—it's too much." The boy shakes his head insistently.

Joe cups Barry's chin like he did when he was eleven, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Would you say that if this was Iris's opportunity?" The kid shakes his head no, blinking hard.

"I wish, for once, you would realize that I love you as much as I love my daughter," Joe continues. He wasn't planning to say it, but it fits. "Just take it, Son."

With that, he leaves the room, but not without catching a glimpse, in his peripheral vision, of Barry smiling and tearing up at the same time. That kid has no idea how sweet he is, Joe thinks, but maybe that's a good thing.


	4. Age Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry leaves for college, but with the promise of a future that makes Iris and Joe very happy.

Age Seventeen

Iris is crying in the backseat of her father's car. She doesn't want Barry or Joe to see, so she acts like she's fallen asleep, but tears silently track their way down her cheeks. She thinks back to six years before, when she'd been the only one in Joe West's house and heart. They had been happy. But now it seems like that kind of happiness was nothing to what it feels like to have a brother. A brother who's leaving for college at one of the best science programs in the world.

"Baby, are you ok?" She should have known her dad wouldn't miss the signs.

"I'm fine, Daddy," she says, but her voice breaks.

Barry turns around in the front seat, peering into the back with a worried expression. "Iris, I'll be back for Christmas. It'll go by so fast you won't even miss me." He grins, but it's a sad grin.

Iris's Daddy is no idiot. When it's time for lunch and a refuel, he stops off at a diner. "You two go eat. I'm going to get gas and take a walk," he says, handing over a credit card.

Barry and Iris sit opposite each other in a dingy diner booth. Iris tries to look at the menu, peering at an array of burgers and shakes, but her mind is elsewhere, imagining how empty upstairs is going to feel without Barry in the next room.

In a moment, she feels a hand rest on top of hers. "You know I'm coming back, right? I'm not gonna stop being your friend just because we're in college." She looks up and sees the usual sincerity in his eyes.

"Thanks," she answers. "I know you still want to find out what happened to your mom, and you have a lot of things you want to do. Just—don't forget about us."

Barry squeezes her hand tightly. "Iris, there is no way I could ever forget about you. You're my best friend—and my sister."

\---

Barry helps Joe unload the car while Iris puts his belongings away in his tiny dorm room. There are a lot of things he wants to say to the detective, things he's not sure how to articulate. For the time being, they work in unison, and he feels the comfort of having the solidity and dependability of the older man by his side.

Everything finally inside, the three of them sit around the little room, not saying anything, when Iris gets up. "I'm going to get a drink at the vending machine we saw when we came in." Barry watches her leave the room, and he wants to ask her to stay. It's too much to be left alone with her father, to try to figure out how to say goodbye. He stares down at his hands, and the cuff of his shirt reminds him that everything he has is because of Joe West.

Just like he's twelve again, Barry watches Joe get up from his Ikea desk chair and join him on the edge of his dorm room bed. "Am I in trouble?" he asks, trying to lighten the mood.

"Nope," says Joe, rubbing his hand across his face. "I am."

\---

Joe looks everywhere but at Barry Allen. Not like he needs to look at him. He's memorized every part of that kid, from the top of his spiked hair to the soles of his Converse-clad feet. He's tall now; one more growth spurt, and he'll be taller than the detective. But he's still slight, like a twig you could break. And he's fragile.

Barry may have been Central City High School's Valedictorian, the brilliant science brain that seemingly every university in the country wanted to recruit. But Joe still sees the little boy reflected out of those honest eyes, the kid who still hasn't made peace with what happened the night his mother died.

"Joe, I picked my major," breaks the silence.

"Oh yeah? I thought you were undecided."

He looks over. and Barry shakes his head. "Not anymore. I picked forensics—forensic science. I'd like to help the police solve crimes—like you."

Joe smiles. "Good choice." He wraps his arms around his skinny kid.

"You be good, Barry Allen." He's said it a million times, before sleepovers, school dances, and dates. It's never brought tears to his eyes before.


	5. Age Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry is thinking up mathematical ratios for how many times Iris West has kissed him since he moved into the West house. That's just sleep deprivation, right?

Age Nineteen

Iris wakes up at 6am to the sound of something crashing onto the floor in the next room. "Barry, are you ok?" She's at his door in a moment.

"Yeah, sorry," comes the response, before her red-eyed foster brother opens the door.

"Did you even sleep?" she asks.

He shakes his head. "No, I'm almost done with the experiment on stationary particles."

"In your room. In the middle of summer break," she says drily. Iris's idea of summer break is sleeping in, doing the afternoon shift at Jitters, and then going to a movie. Not doing complex scientific experiments in her bedroom.

"If I finish this, Dr. Maxwell says I could get published in the next New Science Journal."

"Right," she says. "But you could do it at 3pm, instead of 3am." Barry rubs the back of his neck, his habit when he's nervous.

"I get it," Iris continues. "You're still trying to figure out—what happened. Look, I'm on your side. Just be honest with me. And get some sleep, or my dad's going to rethink his stance on not grounding people over 18."

She stands on tiptoe and kisses his cheek. "Night, Barry. In my world, 6am during summer break is still the middle of sleepy time."

\---

Barry blinks.

He's lived next door to Iris West for eight years, minus a few months of university. His mind quickly figures out a mathematical ratio for how many times she's kissed him. The answer is in the hundreds.

He's seen her with her hair up, down, half-up, drenched in sweat, and permed, during that unfortunate middle school phase. She doesn't own an outfit he hasn't seen her wear.

But somehow, her 6am self, with hair sticking out, no makeup, and faded pajamas is the most beautiful she's ever looked.

"I really need sleep," he thinks.

\---

Joe West is already up, eating his oatmeal, when he hears something crash upstairs. Eight years ago, he'd have run up as fast as he could go. Heck, he'd have probably done the same thing two years ago. But Barry is nineteen, and the detective reminds himself that the kid can take care of his own messes.

Maybe.

It's hard to let go. Not so much of Iris, which is strange, in a way. He'd expected his daughter to be the one he struggled to relinquish. But Iris is strong, like he is.

Barry is the one who still stays up all night trying to solve a murder that's been quiet for eight years. He's the one who drives up to Iron Heights every week during the summer, only to come home looking like a whipped puppy. He's the one who still needs so much guidance, and it's a complicated thing to let go and keep holding on at the same time.

The moment after the crash, Joe hears a door open, and he knows Iris is making her way down the hall, checking on her brother like she always has. That's ok, then. She's always known what to do. He smiles to himself and stays put.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told y'all the Westallen was coming. Hope you enjoy!


	6. Age Twenty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry's internship at CCPD requires adjustments in his relationship with the Wests, but when you're a family, the important things never change.

Age Twenty-One

"Hey, Stranger." Iris puts a light hand on her foster brother's shoulder. "You don't look ok. What's going on?" Barry is seated alone at a table near the window in Jitters, the place were Iris still works when she's not doing summer classes.

Barry looks up and smiles. "Hey, Iris—nothing major, just a tough day at work."

Iris calls over to the counter. "Lee, I'm taking a break." She sits down opposite her downcast best friend. "Is my dad being a pain?"

"He's just doing his job," Barry answers. "I'm only an intern, and he doesn't want to look like he's favoring me."

Iris nods understandingly. "It's brave of you to take a job where my dad works."

"Nah," he shakes his head. "I'm lucky to work with him. He's the best."

Iris grins. "We agree on that."

\---

Got a date tonight?

Barry's phone lights up, and he stares at the text message from Joe West, wondering what it means.

No he answers truthfully. He's not seeing anyone.

Meet me at Ricky's at 7:00.

Barry shows up. When Joe tells you to go somewhere, you go, whether you're thirteen or thirty. He finds the detective in a booth at Central City's best sports pub. As he walks over to take his seat, he wonders if he's about to get another tongue-lashing related to his work performance.

"Barry," says Joe's booming voice. He's smiling. The kid figures that's probably good.

"Hi, Joe," he says. "I'm sorry."

"For what, son?" The detective looks up from he perusal of the menu, confusion on his face.

"For whatever this—meeting is about," Barry answers.

Joe laughs. "I'm not mad. It's just been a long time since we've caught up, had a meal outside the precinct."

"Oh," says Barry, nodding.

\---

Joe West feels like a heel. He's not used to Iris stomping into his office and telling him to stop doing something. In fact, he can count on one hand the number of times she's been that incensed. When she is, he listens. Still, he didn't quite believe her when she said Barry was upset. The kid always seemed fine at work. Haven't they known each other for over ten years?

Except, said Iris, her brother was feeling a lot of tough without a lot of love. When Joe sees Barry Allen's face as he takes his seat opposite him, he gets it. Iris wasn't kidding.

It's awkward. Joe hates awkward. And it shouldn't be awkward to have dinner with his foster son, the kid he's raised for a decade. It should be easy, like it used to be. Whatever the kid's flaws, he's a good kid, and more than that, he's Joe's kid.

The detective clears his throat. He's not one to avoid his duty, even if it's an uncomfortable one. "I want to apologize," he says. Barry's eyes register surprise.

"When you took the internship with CCPD, I knew that part of the reason they gave it to you was because of me. You know I've always prided myself on being fair. I thought—if I was tough on you, it would even things out. But I was wrong. You're a good scientist, and you're an asset to the department. I shouldn't have lost sight of that, whatever our personal history."

Barry meets Joe's eyes, and the detective realizes he's looking into the face of a young man, not a boy. "Joe, I took the job because I respect you, and I believe in what you're doing. I don't care how much pressure you put on me. I'm going to finish the summer, and when I finish school, I'm going to come back here and work full time. I know what I want now, and it's that."

Joe grins. When you've known someone as long as he's known Barry Allen, a few feet of distance can be bridged in an instant. "Fine with me, kid, on one condition."

"Yeah?"

"You may not live in my house any more, but you, me, and Iris are going to make time to be a family."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Barry answers, a smile lighting up his face.

—-

Later that night, Joe calls Iris. "Hi, Baby."

"Hi, Dad."

"I took your advice," Joe says.

"I know," his daughter answers. "Barry called me. He sounded happy."

"Thanks, sweetheart," the detective says. "You were right."

"I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to give big hugs and kisses to all my readers and lovely WestAllen fans. Keep supporting The Flash!


	7. Age Twenty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry's first day as a full-time forensic specialist for the CCPD brings up memories for himself and the Wests.

Age Twenty-Three

Iris watches Barry walk into the lab. His eyes travel around the room like he's a kid looking at presents under the Christmas tree. It's not like he's never been here before, but this is the first day it's his.

The girl shares a smile with her father, but neither of them says anything. This is Barry's moment. The cake ordered by the precinct and all the congratulatory slaps on the back from the cops were received with smiles and slightly shy nods, but this is different.

Barry is like a king surveying his kingdom for the first time.

After a while, he looks back, and Iris meets his eyes, grinning. "Congratulations, Barry. You deserve it." He's so happy he comes over and lifts her off her feet, spinning her until the world is a blur around her. He can do that now.

There was a time when he was shorter than Iris, when she was the one who protected him. Sometimes she misses those days, when it seemed like he needed her so very much. Not today. Today she's just happy.

Besides, she fits perfectly in his arms. There's a lot to be said for that.

\---

Barry looks at the lab like he's seeing it for the first time. Every piece of equipment, so familiar, burns itself in his memory like a snapshot in time.

The microscope reminds him of Christmas when he was twelve, the year Joe and Iris West bought him his first one. He'd expected a few comic books or maybe some new shoes, if he was lucky. The big box, he'd thought, was for Iris. Of course it was for Iris, Joe's perfect little girl. Except it wasn't. It was for him. He'd opened it and cried.

The centrifuge reminds him of his chemistry project for the science fair when he was fourteen. The one Joe West stayed up until 3am helping him finish, without ever even complaining. The blue ribbon he'd won is faded now, but it's still tacked to Joe's refrigerator.

The files strewn across a side table remind him of his first year of college, when he'd gotten so overwhelmed by the half-finished assignments littering his desk that he'd called Iris and told her he wanted to come home. That was the weekend she'd driven hours just to see him for a day. They'd lain on the grass by the lake in the middle of campus, their heads almost touching, but not quite. She'd told him he could keep going. He'd believed her.

Someone has framed the first page of his CCPD work contract and left it on his desk, the one with his name and job title on it. It's a nice touch, and he's pretty sure he knows who did it—the same man who wrote a recommendation letter staking twenty years of experience on Barry's ability to do the job. The same man who, twelve years ago, had staked his entire life on Barry's potential to become a good man.

\---

Joe West kisses his daughter goodbye as she leaves for class, but he stays put, silently watching the scientist in his lab. There's no question Barry Allen is meant to be here, at home among equipment Joe doesn't know how to pronounce.

He could stand there all day, watching happiness radiate from the kid like he's just found the love of his life. It's hard to remember, today, that Barry is twenty-three years old. He sees the little boy shining out of those eyes, but back then, all Barry had wanted to do was run. Sometimes he wonders what finally stopped him.

"Joe," says the kid's voice, after a long while.

"Hmm?" The detective stands still, waiting, listening, like always.

"Thank you," says Barry, turning and facing him, grinning.

"It's not me, Son," says Joe. "You're the one who's qualified."

"Yes," the boy answers, "I am. Because of you." The detective welcomes the hug that follows, marveling that the kid who used to be barely five feet tall is eye-to-eye with him now.

Joe West isn't big on emotionally-wrought conversations, mostly because he's the world's biggest teddy bear. At least, that's what Iris calls him, and Iris knows. But he's alone with Barry in a comfortable place, and he chances the question.

"Barry, why did you quit running?"

His surrogate son turns back to him, another smile lighting his face. "Because I realized—when you get where you're going, there's no reason to run any more. You and Iris were the place I wanted to be."

Joe blinks rapidly, trying to force back his all-too-ready tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost to where the show begins! Who's excited? :D


	8. Age Twenty-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iris can't decide what career to pursue; Barry has an idea.

Age Twenty-Five

"My professor says if I don't specialize, I'm going to get stuck in an HR position in a corporate cubicle." Iris is frustrated. She leans against a table in Barry's lab with her arms folded.

"You like writing, don't you?" asks Barry. "A communication degree is good for that."

"I like writing," she echoes, "but not for hours at a time, alone in my apartment. I could never be a novelist. I need to get a Master's in something else." She sighs. When she'd planned to enter the Police Academy, it had all seemed so simple and easy. Once she'd taken that option off the table, she'd fallen into a communication major almost accidentally, because her advisor had told her it was a good place to start. Now she has a diploma, a job at Jitters, and no idea what to do.

Barry gets up from his desk, and she watches him stretch his long arms. He's so tall now that it's almost unbelievable, but the physical awkwardness of his teenage years has been replaced by a level of confidence he's never had before. Not that it's enough. Iris can't understand why her best friend is unable to see what he has to offer—he's handsome, charming, and brilliant. What girl wouldn't want that?

"Let's go outside," he says. "This analysis will wait. The guys on the case are out anyway." Iris falls in step with him, and they go down to the first floor of the precinct and then out into the warm sunshine.

"I don't want to work at a coffee shop forever," she says, as they take their places on a stone bench.

"What about journalism?" Barry looks at her, a serious expression on his usually-smiling face. "I can see it now: Iris West, Ace Reporter." His intensity is replaced by a sudden grin.

She's quiet for a moment, thinking. "I do like to talk to people," she muses. The man next to her chuckles, but his laugh is so infectious she can't get annoyed. She punches his arm lightly. "I better get back to work. Thanks, Barry. I'll think about it." She stands up and gives him a side hug. "You're good with advice."

\---

Barry Allen squares his shoulders and walks back into the precinct alone. He's the same height he was ten minutes ago, but he feels taller. Iris West has been a lot of things to him over the years: Sister, friend, therapist, catalyst. For once, he feels like the one with the answers.

It's a very, very good feeling.

\---

Joe West meets his daughter at the family-owned Italian restaurant down the street from the precinct. He likes to have dinner with her alone at least once a week. Helps him stay in the loop.

"Hi, Baby," he says, joining her at a corner booth. She stands up and wraps an arm around his neck, kissing his cheek. She may be twenty-five, but she's still his little girl, and nobody's going to convince him otherwise.

Once they have a basket of bread and a plate of calamari in front of them, Joe looks up from his menu and studies his daughter's face. "You seem less stressed than the last time I saw you."

"I am," she answers readily, smiling in the way that always takes his breath away. He's had years to become accustomed to Iris's inner and outer beauty. He never has. She still stuns him every time he sees her.

"I've decided what to finish my Master's in," she continues. "I'm going to be a reporter."

Joe smiles. It's the perfect career for his extroverted, intelligent daughter. "I'm glad to hear it. How did you decide?"

"Barry," she answers. "We were talking at the precinct the other day, and he thought of it. I gave it a few days, but I'm pretty sure he was right."

"He's a smart kid," says her father.

He remembers looking out the window and seeing his kids on a bench together earlier in the week. He doesn't tell Iris what he thought at the time, which was that they looked good together—easy, happy, comfortable. Iris has always calmed Barry down; Barry has always expanded her horizons.

That afternoon, while he'd l watched his surrogate son smile at his beautiful daughter, he'd decided he was very glad he'd never tried to adopt Barry, out of respect for the kid's love for his biological father.

There's a law against adopted siblings getting married, and Joe West is well acquainted with the law.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're at the point where the show begins!  
> Also, Joe West ships it. At least, that's my take.


	9. Lightning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lightning changes everything.

Lightning

Iris West used to be afraid of lightning. When she was a small girl, she would wake up crying in the middle of storms and sneak into her father's room, trying not to wake him. Joe always woke up anyway, alert to any sounds of distress from his little girl. She would fall back to sleep in his arms, because even lightning couldn't scare her when her Daddy was near.

It's been many years since she realized the truth, that lightning is just a part of life. She ceased to be afraid of it when she understood its place in the world.

Except, the night of the particle accelerator, lightning gets personal again. It comes for her heart—not the one that lives in her chest; the one she gave to her best friend years before. It comes for Barry.

She sits in the hospital waiting room and cries, harder than she ever did when she was a child. Joe comes; he holds her, just as he always has. For the first time, though, it's not enough to stop her tears.

The days blur into weeks and months, as she goes through the motions of her life. But something is very, very wrong. Lightning used to have its place in her world; now it looms bigger than ever before, and she feels like she's eight years old all over again.

Sometimes people are like lightning. Sometimes the way they smile, the touch of their hand, their easy laugh, is like a flash of something that knocks you off your feet. Barry Allen has always had his neat little place in Iris's life. Now that she's in danger of losing him, she feels like her whole world is in danger of collapsing.

\---

Barry is motionless. He does not open his eyes. He has no conscious thoughts. But his body is on fire. His every cell dances through him like mercury, making something new, something the world has never seen before.

Everyone who has ever known Barry Allen has felt his light, the flash of joy that comes from inside him and warms everything it touches. Perhaps the world should not be surprised when that light bursts into a million prismatic colors and refuses to be contained in an ordinary body.

\---

There's a vicious storm pounding the city, but Joe West makes his trek to Star Labs like he always does, like clockwork. Lightning flashes in the sky above him, and he remembers the night that changed everything. No, not the night that put Barry Allen into a coma, the one before, the one when his cop car had transported a doctor to jail while his son screamed.

As usual, the girl, the one with the pale face and long hair, shows Joe inside the lab and to the room where Barry is lying with tubes and wires coming out of him, his every cell monitored every second. Joe reaches out and touches the boy's hair. "Hi, Barry," he says. They say people in a coma can hear you. Maybe.

He remembers driving back to the Allen house, that long-ago night. He would answer a million questions after that—Why take Barry in? Why this kid and none of the others from any of his other cases? Why refuse to give up on this one? Sometimes, when they met Barry, the social workers and other cops would nod knowingly. He was a lovable kid, the kind of kid anyone would want to take in. It made sense.

But that was not why Joe West had taken him in. Only Joe knows what happened that night—and Barry, but he's not awake to recall it. Joe starts speaking, in his low, quiet voice, hoping that somewhere, wherever the boy's brain finds itself, he will be heard.

"Do you remember? I tried to hug you that night, but you wouldn't let me. You were so angry I think you would have hurt me, if you could have. A lot of people think I took you in because you were a good kid—and you were a good kid, a great kid—to everyone but me. You hated me, Barry? Do you remember?

That night was the first time you ran from me. I told you I would take you somewhere safe, and you took off in your sneakers out the door. I followed you. Didn't even have to use my car. You weren't very fast.

You stopped when you knew you couldn't get away. You were crying like nobody should ever have to cry. And you yelled that you hated me. That was the first of many times. But right before you said it, something crossed your face, like a flash of lightning.

You were glad I came, Barry. For a split second, I could see it. You were scared to death to be alone, and you knew I would take care of you. That's why I took you in. None of the rest of it mattered, because you trusted me, even if you didn't want to.

You've been my kid since that night, Barry Allen. I don't know where you're running now, but I hope you come back soon."

Joe has said similar words many times over the long months of Barry's coma. He says them, then rises and wraps his arms around the kid as best he can. They say it can't hurt anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, we've reached the beginning of the show. Thanks to everyone who is still around reading!


	10. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry Allen wakes up.

Awakening

Iris West catches a silhouette in her peripheral vision, outside the Jitters window—a man, tall and slim. She shakes her head and serves lattes to Mr. and Mrs. Green, smiling the way she always does.

She should be happy. She has a good job, good grades, a father who dotes on her, and a boyfriend who treats her like a princes. But there's a hollowness to her smile. Nine months on, her breath still catches when she sees somebody who looks like Barry.

It's like that story her father used to read to her and her foster brother—The Empty House, the story about Sherlock Holmes returning from the dead. Barry had always asked about the case, the science behind solving a locked room mystery. She'd just enjoyed the magic of a dead man coming back to surprise his best friends.

Now that she's an adult, she wonders if those friends had ever felt like she does, had heard violin strains when there were none or seen a tall, thin silhouette and almost lost their breath with longing. She has always understood her life through books, but some are more painful than others.

As she goes back to the counter to collect another order, the door opens. Her eyes start at the man's feet and travel upwards. She can neither think nor speak. It's as if all the happiness she hasn't felt for the past nine months is coming to life inside her, filling her with equal parts tears and smiles.

She finally comes to his face, finally lets herself realize that Barry Allen is standing in front of her, as full of life as the day she met him. He is no mirage, no empty silhouette sent to taunt her grief.

He is real, and as his arms close around her, she feels real, too.

\---

Barry walks down the Central City street, feeling the breeze on his face and the sun on his back. He's happy to be alive, but there's something more, something he can't quite understand yet.

It's as if nine months have re-birthed him into something new, but isn't that silly? He figures it's just the relief of finally feeling whole.

And yet—it's like he has a sixth sense now, as if he can see time passing, in seconds and minutes, in front of his eyes. There's something strangely satisfying about the feeling, as if time itself has welcomed him into its embrace.

Part of him wants to run, to see just how fast he can go, but first, he walks through the front entrance of the CCPD.

\---

Joe West answers his phone. He always answers when Iris's name pops up. "Hi, Baby."

"Hi, Dad. It's—Barry." She's crying. Joe goes on immediate alert, trying to ready himself for whatever news is coming. For nine long months, he's been preparing himself for the worst. People rarely live through what Barry Allen has endured.

"He's awake. He's ok." Iris sobs out.

"Huh?" Joe's eyes mist. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, Daddy, I saw him a few minutes ago. I think he's coming over there to see you. I wanted to let you know first, so you wouldn't have a heart attack." Joe laughs, the first real laugh he's allowed himself in a long time.

"Thanks, Baby."

The cop puts his phone down on his desk and breathes deeply, watching the door. It's not long before a lanky kid in a jacket walks through it. Like his daughter before him, Joe starts at the feet and ends at the face, hardly able to believe what he's seeing.

Loving Barry Allen has given him plenty of near-heart attacks. Today, though—today is when it's all worthwhile. He wraps his son in the tightest hug he can, and he holds on for a long time.


	11. Dads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't tell someone, "You're not my father," with that kind of emotion, unless they deserve the title.

Dads

Iris hates conflict. She's always hated it, not because it scares or threatens her, but because it seems so incredibly pointless to her when people won't just say what they mean. It's a quality she inherited from her father, who isn't shy about, well, much of anything.

She especially hates it when Joe and Barry are fighting. Oh, it's not fighting in the knock-down, drag-out sense. That might be easier, actually. It's the kind of fighting when neither one of them wants to talk, and she can't fix it.

It's in these times that she's forced to remember that Barry isn't actually her brother, is the progeny of people with a different conflict style and a different history. If it were up to her, she would march into her father's office and talk it out. She knows by experience that he's usually only mad when he's worried. It's sweet, except when it blows up into one of the legendary West-Allen standoffs.

She wants to shake them both.

Except, well, it's different with fathers and sons. She's old enough to know that by now. It's not just that Barry comes from a different family, and it doesn't really matter how old he is. She can sweet-talk Joe West into a lot of things, but her brother is different.

It's like those National Geographic videos from science class, the ones of lions head-butting each other. For Iris, becoming a woman was a graceful, gradual process. Sure, Joe had vetoed a few boyfriends and a few outfits over the years, but overall, she'd gone from flats to high heels without much of a problem. It's different with Barry, so very different. Becoming a man, somehow, is about a weird dance of head-butting and reconciling, over and over. Even the sweetest nerd in the world has to test his independence.

But maybe that's comforting, she thinks. Lions don't test their strength against those outside their tribes. Maybe the conflict is not meant to remind her that her brother comes from another family. Maybe it's supposed to show her just how much he belongs.

\---

Barry sits on the edge of a table at Star Labs, feeling sick to his stomach. He doesn't get angry that often, and he doesn't like it. He forces his mind to focus on his father's face, the face he only sees behind protective plexiglass.

He can't let himself think of Joe West's face. Joe isn't the man who gave him life, isn't the man he wants desperately to free, isn't his father.

The problem is, if that were really true, he wouldn't feel the knot of guilt eating him alive. The irony is that you don't say, "I'm not your kid," with tears in your eyes, unless you're somebody's kid. And you don't say, "You're not my father," with that kind of anger, to someone who doesn't deserve the title.

He has a dad in Iron Heights, but that dad isn't the one who chased him every time he ran, who forgave him every time he yelled, and who still checks on him to make sure he's ok. It's not disloyal to Henry Allen to admit the truth: He's Joe West's kid, and he always will be.

\---

Pizza heals all wounds, at least, it did when Barry was fourteen, and Joe had punished him for something he hadn't done. The cop still remembers that with regret. When you're a dad, your mistakes stay with you, even as the years pass.

Three pizzas. The kid can eat. No telling where he puts it on that lanky frame.

It's a peace offering. Joe just hopes they can move on, hopes that his acknowledgement of Barry's abilities will let them pass through their latest conflict and forge a new path.

Except, it hurts. Joe West knows he isn't perfect, but he can't help hearing the words over and over in his mind. "I'm not your kid, and you're not my father." He's tried. Lord knows, he's tried. Those nine words are like knives, poking all the memories of the times he yelled when he should have been silent and said no when he should have said yes.

He's in for the long haul. When you're a dad, it doesn't matter if your son disowns you, stares at your face and tells you he doesn't belong to you. He's still your kid.

"I know I'm not your father." He'd hoped they wouldn't have to rehash it again, have another conversation that cuts the wound even deeper.

"You're right. You're not." Joe can't believe how much he can hurt. But that's not the end of the conversation; it's just the beginning.

Neither of them has ever spoken aloud what it is that exists between them, and Barry's words feel like the last crumbling of a wall that has been falling, steadily, for fourteen years, the wall between a cop and his surrogate son.

Joe cries, but he doesn't mind. When you're a dad, there are tears, but those tears are worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought the scenes in episode 2 between Barry and Joe were really well done. Hope I came close to doing justice to them.


	12. Isolated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry and Iris begin to feel the effects of the secret between them.

Isolated

Iris is frustrated. She can read Barry Allen like a book—usually. It’s not like him to keep things from her. He’s terrible at lying. He always has been.

When they were both in eighth grade, Joe had refused to let them go to a friend’s overnight birthday party. Too many kids, too few adults, he’d said. So, Iris had concocted a plan—business as usual until Joe went to bed, then sneaking out for the night and coming back before her father would be awake. 

It wasn’t like her or Barry to go against Joe like that, but eighth grade could be brutal, and she didn’t want to be the least cool girl in school for the rest of the year. It went without saying that Barry never would have snuck out if she hadn’t begged him. 

Everything went perfectly. They’d have gotten away with it, too, except that Barry Allen couldn’t lie to save his life. At 7:00a.m., Joe had gotten up. By 7:15, her brother had caved and told him the whole story. They’d both been grounded for a month. The only part Barry never told was that the whole thing had been Iris’s idea. 

At 25, Barry’s ability to lie hasn’t improved any, but it’s become an endearing quality. Iris has met a lot of guys who lie about as often as they breathe. It’s refreshing to know that her best friend will never be one of them.

Except, there’s something. She can’t tell what it is, but it bothers her. Anything between her and Barry Allen is like a cloud blocking the sunshine. 

—-

Helping people is satisfying, maybe the most satisfying thing Barry’s ever done. The problem is, he can feel himself fraying a little bit at the edges. Every day, he discovers something new his body is capable of doing, but every day he also feels the pressure of his new life.

He doesn’t like keeping things from Iris. And he’s begun to wonder—what if he’d had his new-found power the night his mother had been killed? He knows he can’t hold himself responsible; he’s spent years trying to let go. But he can’t keep the thought from coming.

The truth is, being a metahuman makes him feel like a little kid again, like the kid who felt like the only one in the whole world who really knew what had happened that horrible night. Isolated. He does his job; he saves the world, and he saves Joe West. But he feels alone.

That’s why he drives to Iron Heights and listens to a story he’s heard a million times, letting his tears fall and not bothering to stop them. He doesn’t mind crying in front of Henry Allen. They can’t touch, but they can share a memory of the woman they both loved. As he leaves the prison, he feels warmer, safer, a little less lonely.

—-

Joe wakes up with the worst headache of his life. He smiles anyway, because his kid is across the room, sleeping like he doesn’t have a care in the world. 

No one who never lived in the West house would understand why it makes the detective so happy to see Barry Allen sleeping, no one who wasn’t there for the first two years.

The shrink said the boy was too old to be afraid of the dark. She said it shouldn’t take so long for him to get over it, that his surrogate father shouldn’t “cater” to the kid. Joe’s answer was to get a new shrink and keep sitting by Barry’s bed, every night, until the fear in the boy’s eyes finally gave way to exhaustion.

Joe counted all the books in the boy’s bookshelf a hundred times and recited paragraphs of police law in his mind to keep himself awake, night after night, to watch and make sure his son was all right. Mostly, he studied the way Barry would scrunch into himself, pulling his arms and legs tight to his body, like he was barricading himself against the world. Sometimes, on the bad nights when the nightmares came incessantly, he would sit closer, stroking the hair that feel across the little boy’s forehead to remind him that he was there.

When Barry was thirteen, it had finally gone away, not all at once, but gradually. The boy had begun to fall asleep without a light on, and after a while, he’d started to sleep sprawled out, relaxed, like a normal kid. Joe had stopped keeping vigil by his bed, but he’d still checked on him. Until he was fifteen. Not that he’d ever told Barry that. 

“It’s been a while since I watched you sleep.” He’s rewarded with a groggy smile. 

“Rescuing you is exhausting.” It’s strange, Joe thinks, to know that the boy walking toward him is now his rescuer. He’s used to being the one doing the saving.

“I really miss the ability to be able to ground you.” It’s a lighthearted, teasing joke, but it’s a little bit serious, too. For Joe, grounding his kids had never been about anger or punishment. It had been about protection, teaching them to stay away from things that could hurt them, keeping them from danger, training them to be the kinds of adults who would make safe choices, emotionally and physically. 

But, as much as he wants to, he can’t protect the fastest man alive. He can’t erase the faraway, lost look Barry gets these days. Sometimes, he’s like a kid again. 

Joe takes his son’s hand, squeezing it as tightly as he can. He may not be able to fix things the way he could fix them when Barry Allen was a scared twelve-year-old, but at least he can let him know he’ll never be alone.


	13. Felicity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iris, Barry, and Joe grapple with the reasons why two "perfect" nerds can't make a connection.

Besides Barry Allen, Felicity Smoak is the cutest nerd Iris has ever seen. Between them, they put baby chicks and boxer puppies to shame. Barry has dated a few people, now and then, but never seriously. At twenty-five, with a good job and a settled life, it makes total sense that he’d go for a girl who is so obviously compatible with him.

Except, he doesn’t. And it makes no sense.

Iris can usually predict Barry’s behavior the way astronomers know the phases of the moon. It’s not rocket science, and she’s known him for over fourteen years. He has a lot of great qualities—precious, humble, thoughtful, kind—subtle isn’t one of them.

Finally, she settles on the only reason that makes any sense to her—Barry’s notorious lack of confidence. She would do anything to make him realize—really realize—that he’s better than a great guy, but no matter how hard she tries, he’s determined to let Felicity go.

—-

Barry likes Felicity Smoak. He likes her more than almost anyone he’s ever met in his life. She’s smart, she’s beautiful, and she’s kind. Can’t ask for much more than that.

Except, there’s someone else who is smart, kind, and beautiful, who grew up one door away from him. He can’t explain why it is that talking to Felicity is nice, but talking to Iris West lights him up like he’s a decorated Christmas tree. He couldn’t tell you why kissing Felicity is like comforting a good friend, while even thinking about kissing Iris makes him grin so hard he feels like his face will break. There’s no rhyme or reason to why Felicity’s advice—good advice—makes him think and act, but Iris’s advice makes him feel like a kid again, wrapped up in a warm, safe blanket. 

He can’t explain any of it, but it’s true. 

—-

Joe West is really glad that years of doing interrogations have made him good at looking totally neutral no matter what anyone says to him. He listens patiently while Iris eats her spaghetti—his speciality—and tells him that she can’t think of a single good reason why Barry won’t ask out Felicity Smoak—that girl visiting from Starling City. 

“Dad, you’ve got to talk to him. You can always get him to change his mind,” Iris pleads.

“All right, Baby, I’ll talk to him,” Joe promises. He doesn’t say what he plans to talk about. He’s kept what he knows to himself for a very, very long while, and he figures it’s about time he came clean with his surrogate son. He just hasn’t decided how to approach the subject yet. 

It amuses Joe that his children seem to forget, constantly, that he’s an award-winning police detective. He’d be a pretty lousy one if he couldn’t see what Barry Allen hasn’t been able to hide for about eleven-odd years. 

Iris gives him a hug and a kiss and leaves for the late shift at Jitters, and Joe considers calling Barry, but he decides against it. He’ll let the conversation happen naturally. Barry will come to him, like he always does, and Joe will be able to bring the talk around to the thing that everyone except Iris can see. He smiles to himself when he imagines the look on the kid’s face. It’ll be worth it just to see that—not to mention having a chance to tell Barry that a foster son can be a killer son in law.

Those kids think they know more than him these days. It’s nice to know he can still surprise them.


	14. Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry is caught in the middle of two worlds.

Between

Iris has read all of Barry's comic books, and she knows about superheroes. Often, they're a grim lot. They speak in low, gravely voices and rarely smile.

Except, when she meets Central City's own superhero—the one she'd really like to call hers—he's not like that at all, at least she doesn't think so. Looking through that vibration thing he does with his face, she sees him smile, maybe even wink.

Superheroes don't wink at blog-writing baristas, she tells herself. They're too busy saving the world. The kind of people who wink at her are people like Barry, her best friend, not red-wearing men who streak across the night like fireworks.

But she saw what she saw, and she can't help it.

When she's lying in bed later, trying to sleep, she can't shake the euphoria the memory brings her. It's almost like—well, it's almost like her city has somehow produced a superhero who's just a little bit like Barry Allen. She laughs at her own thoughts, but they persist.

Central City, she thinks, could do worse. A lot worse.

\---

Barry is caught. Ever since his awakening, he's known things couldn't continue in comfortable equilibrium, not when he's part-scientist, part-superhero. Or maybe all one and all the other.

He just hadn't expected Iris to be the one he'd have to try to save. Except, sometimes saving someone from danger can feel a lot like hurting them.

He trudges to his lab, feeling worn out and empty. Joe is there. Of course Joe is there. He has superpowers of his own, it sometimes seems to Barry. He always knows when he's needed.

\---

Joe is worried about his kids—about Iris, who won't give up her obsession, and about Barry, who's trying to understand a gift he never asked to receive, a gift that sometimes seems like a curse.

He shares a laugh with the kid. That always breaks the ice. Plus, how could he not laugh at the sheer absurdity of his surrogate son being able to do something as ridiculous as vibrating his own vocal cords?

Over the years of raising a daughter and a son, the detective has become a master at moving conversations around to where he wants them. The teenage years taught him that you can't always be as direct as you'd like, or else you'll shut kids down like you've flipped a switch. You have to be subtle.

"Not everything." He dangles the bait, giving a pointed look to the uncomfortable young man in front of him. It's high time they were open with each other. He's rewarded with a look of slowly dawning realization, but it's followed by embarrassment.

That's not what Joe wants, not at all. What he wants to do is to reassure. There's nothing good about shame and nothing to be ashamed of. If it were up to him, Barry and Iris would already be married, living in a comfortable little house in a safe suburb of Central City.

He can't deny that it's immensely satisfying that his approval can still calm Barry Allen like it could when he was twelve. That second year was when things had turned from ugly to peaceful, when the kid he already thought of as a son had started returning his hugs and asking him for advice.

It's late, but he doesn't mind. He's accomplished what he set out to do. He opens his arms, like he always does. He likes to think he turned Barry Allen into a hugger, but he knows it's not really true. There's always been so much love in that kid that it was bound to come out somehow.

Barry thanks him. He wants to ask why, but he really knows. Every thanks between them covers today, and it covers years. There's no need to elaborate.

-

"Dad, he says—he doesn't want to see me for a while." Iris isn't crying, but sometimes that's worse, Joe knows. He sits on the couch beside her and offers an embrace. She leans into him and buries her face in his shoulder.

"Barry's got a lot going on right now," he soothes.

"It's not even about me," Iris adds. "I'm just afraid he's giving up."

Joe puts a big arm around his little girl. "Don't worry, Baby. Nothing can keep that kid down. Nothing at all."


	15. Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe West is the reason Barry Allen understands the meaning of true strength.

Strength

Once, when she was small, long before Barry had come to live in her house, Iris West went on a drive with her father. He wouldn't tell her where they were going, but she didn't mind. Joe's surprises were always good surprises.

After a half hour, they pulled over into a deserted field, acres of land without a building in sight. "We're here, Baby," said Joe, lifting her out of the car. As daylight gave way to night, she watched him put a blanket down and take out a flashlight and a jar.

"Come here." He held out his arms, and she took a seat on his lap in the middle of her grandmother's old crocheted afghan. "Rest a while," he'd said, and she'd snuggled into him and closed her eyes.

The next thing she knew, Joe was shaking her gently. "Look, Iris."

She'd opened her eyes and thought she was in wonderland, surrounded by golden lights above and beside her, the air buzzing with magic.

"Fireflies," said Joe softly. "Do you want to catch some?" He held out the jar, but Iris shook her head.

"No, Daddy. They should be able to fly." Joe cradled her against him, and she watched the aerial dance until she was too tired to stay awake any longer.

It's that memory that comes to Iris's mind in the middle of Jitters, when somebody calls Barry her "shadow." It's entirely the wrong word. Shadows are about darkness and reflection. Her brother and best friend is much, much more than that.

He gives far too much light to be a shadow.

That's why she'd let him go, when he'd asked. She's always known it couldn't be right to catch a firefly in a jar and try to keep its light for yourself. All you'll do is choke it. Barry is too precious to her to be manipulated or controlled. If he needs space, she gives it. She can't bear to choke the light out of someone so beautiful.

But she learned something else, that long-ago night. Entwined with the memory of Joe's safe arms around her is the memory of how close fireflies will come if you offer them a safe place to land.

Barry comes back, like he always does, and as he sits across from her, she remembers how it felt that long-ago night when a firefly came close enough to brush her cheek with its wing.

\---

Memories are a strange thing, Barry thinks. The memory of his childhood terror, followed by the first time in his life that he'd ever been knocked down by a girl, should be painful, shouldn't it? But he finds himself smiling instead of wincing. Joe had tried to teach him to box. It hadn't worked. That, too, should be painful. It isn't.

Instead, what he remembers most is how it felt when Joe wrapped him in an embrace so tight nobody on earth could break it. He'd lived with the Wests for over a year, but he'd still been a little wary around the cop, a little scared.

He'd wanted Joe to think he could fight his own battles. It was Iris who'd told her father he couldn't.

That day, he'd learned something—that being strong doesn't mean you have to hate people who are weaker, and it doesn't mean you have to use your strength to make yourself feel bigger. Sometimes, he'd learned, the best use for a pair of strong arms is to hold somebody who needs it.

For a moment, he lets himself linger in the memory of feeling perfectly safe and perfectly loved.

That memory, and what it taught, is why he has to run. It's the reason he pulls children out of the paths of cars and stands his ground when people threaten his city. He's strong now, and strength means responsibility.

It's not about being tough or being invincible. It's about being kind to those who need it most.

\---

Joe West hates bullies. He hates them generally, but even more when they threaten his kids. He well remembers how angry he'd been when Iris had told him that someone was messing with Barry Allen.

He was old enough and wise enough to understand why. Bullies zero in on those who are vulnerable, who most need protecting. He was also wise enough to know that he couldn't step in and stop it.

He'd agreed to teach Barry to fight, but that wasn't the point. Not at all. What he'd wanted was to show his fragile son what true strength meant—that the strongest people are not the most physically powerful, but the ones who choose kindness, over and over, even when they get hurt.

He'd wondered, back then, with Barry held tightly in his arms, if he was a good enough man to communicate that message.

As he looks into the face of the scientist he calls son, he realizes, with startling clarity, that he's succeeded far more than he ever could have imagined. Barry Allen has grown up a good man, and that is the strongest thing there is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was such a beautiful episode that I wanted to write a slightly special chapter for all of you to go with it.


	16. Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry wrestles with what makes him unique.

Human

"Iris, I failed."

"Really?" The ninth-grader looks at her best friend and raises her right eyebrow. "Is this one of those things where you got a 92 instead of a hundred?"

"No, I actually failed." Barry shows her the top of his test with a big, red F on it.

"It's ok." Iris immediately goes into comforting mode, seeing the heartbroken look on her surrogate brother's open face. "Mrs. Eaton will let you take it again. She always does that."

Barry shakes his head. "I totally don't get French."

"That's ok," Iris reiterates. "My dad will get you a tutor. I had one for Math for a while, before you lived with us."

"Your dad," her friend shakes his head like he's just remembering Joe West exists. "He's going to be so mad."

They're outside the school building now, and Iris turns to him and gives him a quick hug. He's taller than she is now. "All my dad cares about is that we do our best, Barry. You know that."

\---

Barry is a little afraid of Joe's response, but it's not just that. Being smart is the one thing he has, the one thing that defines him. He's never failed a test in his life, and he feels like his world is turning upside down.

He still feels like the odd one out, a lot of the time. He's not Iris, with her perfect smile, her athletic ability, and her brains. Joe is proud of her. Of course he is. Barry doesn't even have the claim of being Joe's actual son. He's just the gawky neighbor kid who lives upstairs.

He doesn't always think like that, but when he looks at the red F, all of his insecurities come rushing back. If he doesn't have the one thing that actually makes Joe West proud, what does he have?

"I can't live without being smart," he thinks.

\---  
Barry Allen is staring at the floor as Joe accepts the paper from him. "I need you to sign this," he says softly.

The detective looks at the grade at the top and asks, his tone of voice calm, "What happened, son?"

"I studied," Barry answers. "It just didn't make any sense to me. Look, I know I'm grounded. Just tell me how long."

Joe puts an arm around him. "You study harder than anybody I know. I'm not grounding you for doing your best and coming up short." To his surprise, all this does is make Barry's shoulders slump even more. "Come with me," says the detective, leading the way outside to his car. Barry follows without saying anything, but his eyes look suspiciously misty.

Joe drives to LoveBoat Ice Cream, one of his family's favorite places in all of Central City. "Get out," he says.

"Why are we here?" Barry asks, clearly confused.

"Ice cream, kid. Why else would we be here?" His son closes his mouth and doesn't say anything else except for his usual order (chocolate and pistachio) until they're seated at a round, white table.

"Joe," Barry finally asks, "why did you get me ice cream for failing a French test?"

The detective laughs. "You looked like you needed it, son. Besides, I'm proud of you."

"For failing a test?" the boy asks again, his eyes wide.

"For being a great kid," Joe answers, leaning forward across the table and putting a hand on his son's forearm. "Barry, I know you're probably the smartest kid at that school, but do you think Iris or I care about that?"

The boy blinks hard and shrugs. Joe puts down his cup of strawberry and vanilla, locking eyes with his distressed surrogate child. "It's ok to be human. We don't love you because you're a genius. We love you because—you're you."

"But Joe," Barry argues, "Iris is—perfect. I'm not anything. I'm just good at science."

The detective closes his eyes. Part of him wants to shake Barry Allen into next Tuesday, until he gets the truth through his thick skull. The other part keeps him quiet until he can pick the right words. "Son," he finally says, "no matter what you are, you're my kid, and you're Iris's best friend. That's all you have to be. Your intelligence is a gift, but it's not who you are."

Barry rubs hard at his eyes with his napkin, and Joe feels like he's made his point.

\---

Sometimes Iris feels like she does nothing but worry about Barry. Sure, he's always been a little bit vulnerable, but these days he seems as fragile as his favorite mug that lies shattered on the floor.

He's busy, like always, but she catches him on the sidewalk outside the precinct and stands on tiptoe to give him a surprise hug. "Hey," he says ruefully, putting his arms around her, "I can get a new mug."

Iris punches him lightly in the arm. "It's not that. You just looked like you needed a hug."

"Yeah," he admits. "Not really feeling like myself today."

"Well," Iris answers, "on your worst day, you're still pretty great."

\---

Barry feels like he weighs a ton. When you've been able to fly, going at the same pace as everyone else is like crawling.

To anyone else, it might seem silly to be so attached to something he's only had for a few months, but other people, even those closest to him, can't fully understand how his powers have changed his life.

It's not about what he can do; it's about who he is. In his normal life, he might still be the gangly scientist who can't show up on time, but whenever self-doubt tries to creep back into his mind, he remembers that he's The Flash, and he feels better.

Except, he's not The Flash any more. He's just Barry Allen. And that feels like far less than enough.

\---

Joe follows his kid into the hall outside Eddie's hospital room. "Barry?"

"Yeah?" His smile is back. The detective is glad to see it.

"You know your powers mean a lot to this city, and they mean a lot to me because I've seen what you can do and how much it helps."

"Sure," answers the younger man.

"But," Joe puts a hand on his shoulder, "when it comes to caring about you, none of that stuff matters. Not even a little bit. There wasn't a thing wrong with Barry Allen before he was The Flash, and if—something ever happens to change that again, won't be anything wrong with him then, either." The detective is eaten up with worry, but he doesn't let himself show it. Sometimes his job is just to reassure and comfort, to be a dad, and that comes first.

Barry rubs the back of his neck and grins shyly, staring at the floor. "Sometimes it just feels like that's all I've got."

"You need ice cream, son?" Joe puts his arm around the kid, and Barry laughs.

"Not as much as-I need you." He doesn't look at Joe, but the detective feels the love behind the words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special chapter for a special episode, dedicated to all of you. Thanks for reading!


	17. Recriminations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knowing you're not to blame doesn't mean you don't feel regret.

Recriminations

Iris tries to smile as Barry sits opposite her in her Jitters booth.

"Are you ok?" he asks. "You look a little bit upset."

"I'm ok," she answers, not really convincing herself, let alone him. "You know I like to see the best in people. I've always had a hard time—letting that go."

Barry smiles at her, and she notices that he looks a little bit sad too. "That's one of the best things about you," he says. "You always help people see their potential, and that makes them see what they can be."

"Not always," she answers. "I—think I trust my judgment too much sometimes."

Barry puts out his hand and covers hers with it. "Iris, I've never known you to be really wrong about someone in your entire life. Other people don't always see what you see, but that doesn't mean you're wrong."

She shakes her head. "I need to grow up."

"No way," says Barry, his eyes so insistent that she's surprised by the vehemence. "Iris, your belief in the good in this world is what kept me going when it seemed like everything was against me. I still—feel better about things when I remember that you can see light where I can't."

Iris tears up inadvertently. "Thanks, Barry," she says. "It's nice to know that when the world lets me down, you're still you." She interlaces her fingers with his and squeezes his hand.

\---

Barry sits in his lab, alone in the fading light. He's enjoyed the high of having Oliver Queen around, but he can't shake the sadness that encircles him like a big, black, cloak that threatens to choke him. As much as he knows his actions weren't his fault, he still feels culpable and afraid of what might have been. With powers like his, anger isn't just an emotion; it could be deadly.

Eddie is still alive, but he feels like something between him and Iris has died. He doesn't blame her. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

\---

"Hey," says Joe, rounding the corner and finding his surrogate son sitting at his desk like a lost child with his head in his hands.

"Hey," says Barry, looking up.

Joe leans agains the front of the desk. "You're not still beating yourself up, are you? I thought we talked about that—a long time ago."

Barry's always been one for endless self-recrimination. That was what Joe had always hated most about disciplining him. It wasn't so much the few days of grounding or lost privileges. It was the weeks after when the kid was practically tiptoeing around, trying to be perfect, doing his best to re-earn his place in Joe's good graces.

The cop had thought it would pass, and so had Barry's shrink, the one Joe actually liked. But it didn't, so he'd finally listened to his instincts and sat his son down, at age 14, over two Cokes and a pizza. "Barry," he'd said, "you've got to learn to let things go. We all make mistakes. I didn't take you in thinking you'd be perfect. When we have a problem, we deal with it, and then it's over. For the love of all that's holy, please get that through your head, or I'm going to lose my mind."

The kid had grinned, and he'd worked on it. It hadn't happened over night, but after a while, he'd settled down, much to Joe's satisfaction.

Barry looks up at his surrogate father and smiles. "For the love of all that's holy, Joe, I'm trying." The cop laughs, knowing they've remembered the same thing.

"Look, kid, you weren't wrong in what you said," Joe says, getting serious again. "I am a big part of why your dad's in Iron Heights. That's a mistake I made that I have to live with, and there's no way I can make up for it, but I'm sure as heck going to do my best to fix it."

For once, the detective doesn't have to ask for a hug.


	18. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is upside-down.

Complications

Iris is happy. Or, at least, she should be. She's always believed that people have the power to make their own happiness.

But there's something missing, something that feels a little bit flatter than it did before, as if somebody's put a pin in her world and deflated it, so that the joyful red-balloon excitement of her life is just a pile of old rubber.

It's not that she doesn't love Eddie, her father, and her best friend. It's just—well, it's The Flash. She didn't realize how much he'd come to mean to her until she saw his darkness, anger so powerful it frightened her to the core.

She had imagined him as the sun—strong, but with a benevolent power that only helped. Now, that image has changed to something far more sinister. How can she be let down by someone she hardly knows? She has no idea, but it hurts more than it should, and happiness is more elusive than ever.

\---

Barry has always loved helping people. It had begun with his quest to save his father, but had expanded into something more very quickly. Sure, he'd gone into forensics to satisfy his own need to research and understand, but that compulsion was underpinned by the earnest desire to do work that could save lives, or, at least, avenge those who couldn't be saved.

It's helping Oliver Queen that brings the smile back to his face and reminds him who he is. Even when everything is going wrong, the feeling that he can make a positive difference straightens his spine and puts the spring back in his step.

Barry Allen is not a complicated man, and he knows it. There are two people he loves most in the world, and one thing he wants to do. The awareness that his words have somehow affected the trajectory of the Arrow, well, that's enough to give him hope that he can fix the things that are wrong in his own life.

\---

Joe West does not like the indefinite and the unexplained. He likes having a well-ordered world in which his children are happy and safe, his work is satisfactory, and all is well.

The problem is, ever since Barry's accident, he feels like he understands less and less about the world he inhabits. He can use a gun and his wits, but those things are no match against the so-called metahumans that The Flash encounters on a seemingly daily basis.

He's supposed to be the protector, not the one who needs protecting. Everything is upside-down.


	19. Brownies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iris, Barry, and Joe all remember Iris's twelfth birthday.

Brownies

Iris stares absently at her computer screen, trying to summon thoughts that will give her something to blog about. When she thinks of the Flash, she feels sick to her stomach at the memory of him standing over Eddie. She closes her browser window and wonders if she should start over again with something else. Maybe, she thinks, she should have written a blog about brownies after all.

Brownies were the dessert at her twelfth birthday party. She'd had half her class over, but Barry had disappeared. She'd looked for him all afternoon, even while she opened presents, played games, and ate more than her fair share of pizza. It wasn't like Barry Allen to skip out on pizza, but she figured he was upstairs, laying low in his room so he didn't have to answer questions or deal with people's stares. He got enough of that at school.

Joe had been the life of the party, playing all the games and being everybody's favorite dorky dad. He was strict, sometimes, but that had always been balanced by a heart so big he was her entire class's surrogate parent.

Iris sits back in her desk chair and remembers how much she'd missed Barry. Even then, he'd been her best friend, the only one she really wanted to share her day.

When fifteen over-sugared kids had finally gone home, she'd trudged upstairs to give her foster brother a piece of her mind. She understood why he avoided people, but that didn't mean she had to like it, especially on her birthday.

He wasn't there. The instant she'd opened his door and seen the dark, empty room, she'd felt a mixture of fear and sadness. He was just a kid, and she was a cop's daughter who was smart enough to know how unsafe it was for him to be running alone. But she understood why, and that was what made her sad.

"Daddy," she'd said, running back downstairs, "Barry's gone."

Joe had shaken his head. "I don't know what I'm going to do with that kid."

Iris had hugged him then, wrapping her arms tightly around his middle. "It's my birthday. Promise me you won't get mad at him."

Joe had knelt down in front of her, like he'd done when she was about six. "Baby, do you think I'm mad at Barry when he runs away?"

"Sometimes," she'd admitted.

Joe had wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "Iris, when you and Barry are in danger, I'm not mad; I'm worried. Sometimes, when I get worried, I get frustrated, but that doesn't mean I'm mad at you, and I'm not mad at him, ok?"

"Ok," she'd accepted readily, but it was a conversation that had stuck with her all of her life.

Iris shuts the lid of her laptop and decides to abandon her attempt for the time being. She'd rather find Eddie and tell him she's glad he's safe, but first, she stops in the kitchen to give her father a quick kiss. "I'll be safe, Dad. Don't worry."

\---

Barry sits on the edge of the Star Labs treadmill, thinking about irony, about the little boy who'd always wanted to run and never been as fast as he'd hoped. Wish you could see yourself now, kid he thinks. Still, he can't deny it was a good thing he hadn't been very fast back then. He hadn't know where to run to or what to run from. He'd needed people to catch him.

He smells the unmistakable scent of brownies baking somewhere—Cisco likes to bake to relieve stress—and his mind is immediately back to the day of Iris's twelfth birthday. He'd been with the Wests the better part of a year, but he hadn't stopped running. That particular day, what had set him off was the arrival of a huge crowd of kids from school, the same kids who asked him weird questions and treated him like he was different because of his history.

He'd used the confusion of the party to slip away, to run outside and through the streets toward the house he'd once shared with his parents. It was empty; nobody wanted to buy the murder house, at least not yet. He couldn't get inside, but he stood in the yard, peering at the windows and the walls, as if he might magically see something he'd never seen in all the times before. He almost wished the yellow man would come back, so at least somebody would know he wasn't crazy.

He finally sat down in front of the door, the closest he could get to the inside of the house, closing his eyes and trying to remember every detail about his mother—the smell of her perfume, her smile, her laugh.

Time had gotten away from him. It was always getting away from him back then, even more than it did as an adult. The little boy finally checked his Mickey Mouse watch and realized he'd stayed out far longer than he'd intended. He'd planned to slip back into the party at some point, to make it look like he'd never left. It was far too late for that when he finally realized. The sun was getting low in the sky, and it was almost nighttime.

Barry had only ever let himself really cry when he was all alone, and that's what he did then, sitting alone on the front stoop of the house that should have been his home. He missed his parents; he felt terrible for missing Iris's party, and he was sure Joe would be furious this time. He put his head down on his arms and sobbed, not caring because there was no one to judge.

In a short while, the boy heard the sound of a car approaching. He looked up with tear-stained eyes and saw Joe's police cruiser slowly making its way toward the driveway of the Allen house. Barry wrapped his arms around himself protectively. He did not want to be yelled at, and he did not want the cop to be angry at him. But he didn't expect to escape either of those things.

He watched as Joe walked toward him, trying to read the man's expression, but it was neutral. To the child's surprise, the cop came right to him and sat next to him in front of the house. He didn't say anything at all. He simply pulled Barry into his arms and held him.

"Are you mad?" the boy had asked from against his surrogate father's shirt.

"Nope," Joe had answered, rubbing his back comfortingly.

Barry had looked up then, meeting the man's eyes. "Joe, why are you never mad when I run away?"

"I get it," answered Joe softly. "When you or Iris do something dangerous, it scares me, but t doesn't make me angry. There's a big difference. Every time you run, I get a few more gray hairs, but that doesn't mean I don't understand why."

Barry had put his arms around Joe then, holding on tightly. It felt good to be understood, even if the cop couldn't believe his story. "Is Iris mad?" he finally asked.

"No," answered Joe, "but you should apologize to her. You're the only one she really cares about celebrating her birthday with."

Barry smiles to himself. Joe might not remember saying that, but he's never forgotten it. Iris had wanted him most of all. He still feels taller when he thinks about it.

\---

Joe West melts chocolate over a double boiler, measuring out the perfect amount for his famous brownies from scratch. Iris comes by her love of the confections honestly. She might be out enjoying the company of her photogenic boyfriend, but he plans to have the house smelling edible by the time she gets home.

Baking brownies always brings back good memories for the detective. This time, he recalls Iris's twelfth birthday. On the surface, it seems like it shouldn't be a good memory, another day when Barry had run away, and Joe had found him in tears.

But it's what came after that makes the detective smile. He'd calmed the kid down and driven him home, where his daughter had been waiting by the door.

"Iris," Barry had said, as soon as they'd come inside. "I'm really, really sorry. Is it—ok if I give you the present I made for you?" The boy had looked like he might die if Iris said no, but Joe had faith in his daughter, and she didn't disappoint.

"Sure," she'd said, smiling and giving Barry a quick hug. He'd gone upstairs and come back down with a badly-wrapped package.

Iris had opened it to reveal a globe with holes in the shape of stars. "You—need to plug it in," Barry had said shyly. "I made it in science elective." Iris had followed his instructions and set it on a side table in the living room, plugging it into a wall outlet. Suddenly, the ceiling of the low-lighted room was covered in stars like the night sky, as a light from within the globe illuminated.

"Barry, this is the coolest thing I've ever seen," Iris had said. Joe had to agree. He'd gone into the kitchen then to give his kids a little bit of privacy. When he'd emerged to check on them fifteen minutes later, he'd stood in the doorway and watched.

They'd turned off all the lights and were sitting on the couch together with the globe between them, not talking, enjoying its light. Joe had studied each of their faces, wanting to store their happiness into his mind so that he would never forget it.

That's when he'd seen something that he'd never seen before. By the light of the lamp, he could see that Barry Allen was watching his little girl, and the boy's face wore an expression Joe recognized.

He smiled to himself. Who knew if it would come to anything? But Iris could do worse than that kid. She could definitely do worse.

The detective finishes his mixture and pours it into a dish. It takes time to bake well. You have to put in all the right ratios of the right ingredients, then hope for the best. It's a little bit like parenting. He still thinks Iris could do a lot worse than that green-eyed boy.


	20. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He remembers how it used to feel when he touched Joe or Iris, like the echo of something he'd lost and could never have again. It's strange to think about how much things have changed. Now their embraces make him feel like he belongs, like they're taking him in all over again, every single time."

Touch

Iris holds her father’s hand, standing a few feet away from a gravestone with bright yellow sunflowers on the ground beside it, Nora Allen’s favorite. Barry sits in front of the cold stone with his back to the girl and her father. He has one hand outstretched, holding onto the top of the monument. Iris sees his shoulders shake a little bit, and she’s pretty sure he’s crying, though she can’t see his face. It would have been his mother’s birthday. It’s the first one since her death.

After a while, Barry gets up and wipes his eyes quickly, then zips his red hoodie around him and walks over to where Iris and Joe are waiting. 

“You ready to go, Son?” Joe asks quietly, and Barry nods, his head down and eyes on the ground. Iris wants to hug him, but he’s only been living in her house for a few months, and he doesn’t give hugs. Sometimes he takes them, if Joe or Iris insists, but he usually acts like they make things worse, not better. It doesn’t make sense to Iris. She would hug the whole world if she could. But she stays back and keeps hold of Joe’s hand.

That night, after Barry is in his room, Joe knocks on Iris’s door. “Come in,” she says, sitting on the edge of her bed in her Wonder Woman pajamas. Her father enters and sits beside her, putting a big arm around her shoulders. She leans against him contentedly, enjoying the closeness. 

“Baby, let’s talk about today, ok? You seemed a little upset after we got home. Did it bother you to go to the cemetery?” Joe’s tone of voice communicates concern, but Iris shakes her head no.

“It’s not that, Daddy. I just wanted to help Barry feel better, and there wasn’t anything I could do,” she says.

“I know what you mean,” Joe answers with a sigh. “I felt the same way.” 

“I just wanted to give him a hug,” the little girl adds softly, “but I don’t think he likes them very much.”

“Unfortunately,” her father replies, “even hugs can’t fix everything.”

“They help, though,” Iris insists. Her father doesn’t say anything else. He just puts both arms around her and kisses her forehead. 

She’s right, she thinks to herself. Hugs may not be able to fix everything, but they can help with most things—especially if they’re her Daddy’s hugs.

—-

Barry feels achingly alone. Joe usually sits with him until he falls asleep, but this time he said no when the man asked if he wanted him. Instead, the little boy lies in bed with the light off in his room, feeling completely isolated.

He’s usually less afraid when Joe is there. The cop is big, and Barry is sure he would be able to protect him, but somehow that doesn’t make him feel less lonely. The Wests are nice, but he’s not one of them, and visiting his mother’s grave reminded him of just how fatherless and motherless he is.

Iris and Joe are so close that watching them together makes him feel the hollow in his heart like a knife piercing him. It’s not that he dislikes being touched. It’s just that when the cop and his daughter try to hug him, it reminds him that he’ll never feel his mother’s arms again and that the closest he can get to his father is across bulletproof plexiglass.

The little boy closes his eyes tightly and tries to will himself to sleep, but it doesn’t work. He keeps seeing the yellow man in his head, and he starts to wish he’d let Joe sit with him. 

After all, he doesn’t belong to Joe, and Joe doesn’t belong to him, but there’s something comforting about feeling safe. He can’t deny that he feels better when Joe’s broad shoulders cast shadows on the wall beside his bed. 

“It’s ok, Barry.” 

He remembers the first time he’d ever made a mistake at the Wests. He’d only been there a couple of weeks, and he was trying to help Iris bake cookies. She’d asked for the mixing bowl, but he was just a little too short to reach it on the high pantry shelf, and he’d knocked it crashing onto the floor instead. Glass shards had flown everywhere, and Joe had come running from the living room to see what had happened. Barry had stood in the middle of the mess, quaking in his high tops, scared to death of the cop’s response to his clumsiness. 

Instead of shouting, he’d felt a warm hand on his shoulder and a calm voice reassuring him that it was ok, that nobody was mad, that it was just a bowl. He’d followed Joe, wide-eyed and wordless, out into the yard, where the cop had hosed off his shoes to make sure there was no glass on them, then bandaged his hand where a jagged sliver had flown up to hit him and drawn blood. After that, Joe had cleaned up the mess himself, saying that it was too dangerous for the kids to be walking around in broken glass. 

When it was all over and Joe was washing his hands, Barry had ventured back into the kitchen. “I’m really, really sorry, Joe,” he’d said, still anxious about where he stood with the man.

The cop had dried his hands thoroughly and deliberately, the way he did everything, then turned to the boy. “Barry, there’s nothing for you to be sorry about.” With that, the child had found himself being hugged tightly.

As he lies awake in bed, Barry can’t deny that something felt different that time. Usually, Joe’s and Iris’s embraces remind him of what he’s lost, but that time, he only felt comfort and protection. He’d needed Joe’s reassurance then, and he needs it now.

Quietly, the little boy gets up and pads out of the room, walking as silently as he can so he doesn’t wake Iris. To his relief, the living room light is still on, meaning the cop is awake.

—-

Joe tries to watch TV, but his mind is on the little boy upstairs, the boy who had barely eaten dinner and then gone up to his room alone. He’s come to love Barry Allen as much as if he were his biological child, but that doesn’t mean he knows how to fix him. 

He knows how his daughter feels; he’d felt the same thing that morning at Nora Allen’s grave. He’d wanted nothing more than to hold Barry the way he would have held Iris if she was upset. But the boy was different, and sometimes when Joe touched him, he felt the the child flinch, like there was something very, very wrong. So he’d held himself back, watching and waiting, hoping that the boy would show him what he needed. But now the house is quiet, and Joe is pretty sure the kid is miserable, and he feels like he’s failed. 

He’s about to start a new round of self-recriminations when he hears the faint sound of footsteps. In a few seconds, Barry comes into view. The little boy is pale, and he looks very small and very vulnerable. 

“Joe,” he says in a barely audible voice, not looking up. The cop gives him his full attention instantly, listening hard to catch the whispered words. “Could I have a hug?”

“Of course,” Joe answers, opening his arms wide. For the first time ever, Barry comes to him willingly, standing between his legs and wrapping his arms around the cop’s neck like he’s holding on for dear life.

Joe holds him for a long time, not minding that he’s starting to get a backache from the intensity of the embrace. He doesn’t break the hug, but he doesn’t resist when Barry finally pulls away. He searches the little boy’s face and finds that there’s a peace and calmness in his eyes that weren’t there before. 

So he does like hugs, Joe thinks to himself. He just doesn’t like to be forced.

“Son, do you want me to sit with you until you fall asleep?” He has a hunch he’ll get a different answer than he did the first time he asked that evening. The little boy nods shyly and smiles a little bit.

Joe gets up off the couch, stretching. “Barry,” he says, looking down at the boy in Superman pajamas, “I hope you know how much I love you.”

To his surprise, he hears a quiet answer. “I love you too, Joe.”

After that night, Joe West rarely has a serious talk with Barry Allen that doesn’t include the offer of a hug at the end of it. It doesn’t matter if he’s grounding him, complimenting something he’s done, or just offering advice. He always opens his arms, and his surrogate son almost always melts into them. As the years pass, he finds himself hugging a little boy, then a teenager, and finally a young man. It doesn’t matter. He’s still rewarded each time by seeing whatever fear or pain or confusion lies in Barry’s eyes replaced by a look of absolute peace. 

—-

Iris touches the chain around her neck and wishes she could feel happy about Barry’s gift, but all she feels is deep sadness, and she finds it hard not to tear up again when she thinks about Barry’s secret. She wants nothing more than to find him and hug him, the way she would have when they were children, when he’d finally let her. 

But he’s not just a surrogate brother any more, and she’s comes up against the immovable fact that there’s nothing she can do. Maybe her father was right, she thinks. Maybe hugs can’t fix everything.

“They help, though.” She still agrees with her little girl self. She just hopes Joe will take care of Barry when she can’t.

—-

Barry feels like he’s been kicked one too many times. He closes his eyes and pictures his mother’s face, but he can’t make himself focus on a happy memory. He just keeps seeing the yellow speedster.

It’s dark in his lab. He used to be afraid of the dark. That’s when Joe would sit with him, sometimes for hours, while he tried to sleep. He wonders how many nights of good sleep the cop lost because of him. Not that Joe West ever complained. 

He remembers how it used to feel when he touched Joe or Iris, like the echo of something he’d lost and could never have again. It’s strange to think about how much things have changed. Now their embraces make him feel like he belongs, like they’re taking him in all over again, every single time. 

Except Iris is now the girl he loves, and the girl he’s lost. He wonders if he’ll ever get to hold her again.

He’s sinking deeper into his melancholy when he hears footsteps that he recognizes. He’s not a forensic scientist for nothing. He notices details, and he would know the sound of the soles of Joe’s shoes anywhere. 

Part of Barry feels like he’s eleven all over again. He just wants a hug.

—-

Joe hates seeing his children in pain. It doesn’t matter how old they get; his heart still contracts at the sight of either one of them hurting. He’s had to endure the sight of a whole lot of pain in Barry’s eyes over the years, but this is one of the worst nights he can remember. The kid looks just like fourteen years have evaporated in an instant, leaving him once again the confused little boy who’d been afraid of the dark.

The detective is worried, but he’s also proud. He can’t help thinking with fondness of the showdown in Star Labs, when he’d told Barry to leave, and his son had actually gone. The kid never would have left on Harrison Wells’s orders, but he’d left on Joe’s. Pure trust. That’s what he’s spent fourteen years trying to obtain, and it’s what the two of them share. Only pure trust could have taken that kid away from a fight he wanted so desperately to win. 

Joe sits down, readying himself for a speech he’s never made before. It’s all about a worried single dad and the boy who’d changed his life forever. His own story, and Barry’s.

When he’s all finished, he opens his arms. Like always, Barry returns his embrace, and Joe holds him tightly, just like he’d held the hurting little boy on the night of his mother’s birthday. When they finally break apart, the older man finds what he’s looking for, absolute peace in the eyes of his son, where chaos and pain used to be. 

Years pass, Christmases come and go, but some things never change. Some things are just as important as they were the very first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a companion chapter to the brilliant mid-season finale. I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did!


	21. Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleven-year-old Barry Allen changes the Wests, and they change him.

Light

"Iris, c'mere." The little girl closes her reading book and carefully pushes her chair back under the edge of the table. She walks over to where her father is sitting on the sofa, flipping through Time Magazine. As soon as she reaches him, he pulls her onto his lap.

"Dad, I'm still doing my homework!" she says, smiling.

"Let's talk for a minute," Joe answers, settling her against his chest.

"Ok." Iris starts to feel a little bit nervous. She knows her father had parent teacher conferences all afternoon. She wracks her brain to try to remember if she'd done anything to be worried about.

"Baby, are you happy?" That was unexpected. Iris pulls her head up and looks at her dad's face, trying to figure out where he's going with it.

"Of—of course I'm happy," she answers. "Why?"

Joe holds her tightly. "You know I had those parent teacher things today. Those things scare me to death."

"Uh huh," she answers, listening intently.

"All your teachers said you're one of the best kids in the whole school." Iris relaxes, but she's still curious. "But your English teacher said—she said you're really serious for a kid your age, like maybe you're too worried about things. Look, I know I'm not perfect, but we have fun, right?"

Iris listens to her father's heartbeat and closes her eyes. "Of course we have fun. Are you happy, Dad?"

"Iris, you know you make me happy every day." Joe strokes her hair, and she smiles.

\---

Barry reads out loud to Iris, explaining their science assignment as he goes along. He's excited. He loves learning about biology and chemistry and physics and, really, anything to do with science. Just a few days after he'd moved into the West house, he'd figured out that his best friend didn't like science all that much, but it was because she didn't really understand it. Now they do their homework together, and he explains the things that don't make sense to Iris. She's starting to like science.

He's starting to like history. As soon as he finishes reading their science chapter, Iris picks up their social studies textbook and reads him a chapter on the Revolutionary War. He'd never liked having to read page after page about people who lived and died before his grandparents were even born, but when his best friend reads to him, those people come to life.

When their homework is finished, Iris challenges him to a game of Monopoly, and they sit down with piles of fake money and cardboard mortgages. "I've got a hotel! You're going down, Allen!" Iris grins at him, and he can't help laughing in spite of the fact that he's losing miserably.

\---

Even before Joe West gets into the house, he hears loud giggling. He opens the door to find his daughter and Barry Allen sitting at the dining room table with a Monopoly board. "You guys finish your homework?"

"Yeah, Dad."

"Yeah, Joe."

"Want in?" Iris asks. "Maybe you can help Barry not go bankrupt." The cop sits down and accepts the wad of cash and selection of properties that are handed to him, not really caring about the game, just happy to see so much childlike joy in his house and his daughter's face. Barry's only been living with the Wests for a few weeks, and already things are changing.

Later that night, once he's kissed Iris, Joe goes to check on the little boy. "Hey, Bear."

The kid is lying in bed rubbing bleary eyes. "Hi, Joe."

The cop grabs Barry's desk chair and pulls it near the bed. "I wanted to ask you something. I'm a cop—you know that. I'm pretty good at noticing things about people. I know you turn your light off when you're supposed to, but you look like you're not sleeping much. You're pretty tired for a kid getting his eight hours."

"I'm sorry," the little boy says quickly, shame on his face.

"I'm not here to get onto you," Joe answers, shaking his head. "I just want to understand why. Can you tell me? Is it nightmares?" The kid shakes his head no, but he doesn't answer.

"You know you're not alone, right?" the cop ventures after several seconds of silence. "I understand if you can't sleep."

Barry turns over with his face toward the wall. "I get scared—of the dark."

Joe puts out a hand and touches his shoulder gently. "Would it help if I stayed here until you fall asleep?"

"You would do that?" The little boy turns back over and stares at Joe like he's just seen him for the first time.

"Of course I would," Joe answers. "You're my kid." It's the first time he's ever said it, but it feels natural. He rearranges the twisted blanket around Barry's shoulders and strokes the hair across his forehead for a few minutes until the boy is relaxed. He doesn't leave the room until Barry's even breathing signals that he's in a deep, restful sleep.

When he finally makes his way back out to the living room, he realizes how ironic it is that a kid so filled to the brim with light is that afraid of the dark.


	22. Bleak Midwinter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love brings joy to the bleakest of Christmases.

Bleak Midwinter

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,

earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;

snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,

in the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Iris stands on a riser, singing her heart out. She looks out at the crowd and sees the parents of her friends in the front and her father and Barry toward the back. Her dad's shift had only left him enough time to sneak into the concert just as it began, but he'd never missed one of her school choir Christmas concerts, and he never would.

As the music swells toward the second verse, Iris stops singing for a second, because she sees Barry suddenly get up from the back row and sprint out the door. She resists the urge to run after him, instead clearing her throat and starting again. She catches Joe's eye. It's not a huge building, and she can see the question on his face clearly. She nods to him, hoping he understands. Barry is the priority. There will be more songs to hear, but her surrogate brother needs her father most.

—

Barry runs until he gets out of breath, and he realizes he's the the parking lot. He goes over to Joe's cruiser and sinks to the ground, leaning against it. He can't get the song out of his head. It's beautiful, but the beauty hurts. It was his mother's favorite Christmas song. Ever since he can remember, she'd played it every Christmas Eve, just before he went to sleep. Even as he'd gotten older, he would snuggle into her arms and let the music wash over him, reminding him that Christmas was near.

This is the first year he has no mother's arms to hold him. The Wests love Christmas, and they've included him in tree decorating, cookie baking, and ice skating, but none of it has felt real. It's like he's been watching himself do it all from a distance, while the real Barry Allen doesn't feel like it's Christmas at all.

—

"Sorry, Joe." The boy stands up and apologizes as soon as he sees the worried-looking cop.

"It's ok," the man answers quickly, looking him up and down to make sure he's all right. "What happened?" He's known all along that the first Christmas would be hard, and he hasn't missed the lost, sad look that fills Barry's eyes when he thinks no one is looking.

"I don't like that song," Barry answers quickly, looking down at his shoes and rubbing the back of his neck.

"Ok," says Joe. He's not exactly satisfied, but he doesn't want to push the kid to talk if he's not ready. "Let's go back in. Iris has a solo pretty soon." He inclines his head, and Barry comes over. He puts his arm around his kid while they walk back to the brightly-lit concert hall.

—

That night, Barry knocks on Iris's door. "Hey." She's still in her choir dress, which is red with a huge sash tied into a bow.

She laughs. "I don't want to change clothes. It was such a great night. I don't want it to end."

Barry sits beside her on the floor of her room. "Is it ok if I stay in here for a while?"

"Sure," Iris answers. She's wise enough, even at eleven, not to ask him about what happened during the concert. She just sits down beside him with her shoulder touching his and doesn't say anything.

—

Barry changes into his pajamas and gets into bed, knowing that Joe will be up any minute to sit with him until he falls asleep. He's usually glad, but this time he feels a little bit uneasy.

Sure enough, within ten minutes, Joe knocks lightly before coming in and pulling Barry's desk chair over to the bed. "You ok, Bear?" he asks softly. "I was a little worried about you tonight."

"I'm sorry, Joe," he says, facing the wall. "I lied to you."

"I thought maybe," the cop answers, but he doesn't sound mad. "You want to tell me what that was really about?"

"My—mom really liked that song," Barry admits. "I didn't know they were going to sing it."

"'I'm sorry," Joe says.

"Huh?" Barry is confused. He's the one who lied, but the cop is apologizing. That doesn't make any sense at all.

—-

Joe clears his throat. "Son, I'm a cop. Unfortunately, I've lost a lot of people I cared about. And Iris's mom—I still cry about her, and it's been a long time, Barry. A really long time."

"What I'm saying is, I know how it is when something like that happens. When something unexpected reminds you of the person, and it feels like you got punched in the face. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy, let alone my Bear." Joe looks over to see how his words are being received, and he finds a less anguished look on his surrogate son's face.

"Grief isn't pretty, but it's necessary," he continues. "You don't ever have to feel ashamed to tell me how you feel. I know what it's like." He hopes he sounds convincing.

Barry simply says, "Joe, I really miss my mom." His voice is shaky, and there are tears on his face.

The cop suddenly feels like he's about a hundred years old. The weight of the sadness he feels on the little boy's behalf is staggering. He moves over until he's sitting on the edge of Barry's bed and pulls the little boy up into an embrace. It's not much, but he hopes it's better than nothing.

—-

Iris kisses Eddie, but her mind is elsewhere, remembering the tears in her best friend's eyes when he confessed his love to her. There's absolutely nothing she can do. She hates feeling helpless. It reminds her of the night of her first choir concert after Barry had come to live with her, the night when a simple Christmas song had made him look like someone had just killed him inside.

This time, she's the one who put that look on his face with her silence and her inability to answer a revelation she'd had no time to process. She was shocked, but she still hates herself for being the one to make Barry Allen cry.

It had been a bleak midwinter when she was eleven, and it was a bleak midwinter now.

—

What can I give him, poor as I am?

If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;

if I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;

yet what I can I give him: give my heart

"It's about the heart, Barry," his mother would always say. "Christmas is about our hearts—who we love, who loves us. Those are the important things. Presents are fun, but love is what lasts us all year long." He turns her snowglobe over and over in his hands, remembering her smile and the sound of her voice. Some things never leave, no matter how many years pass by.

After a while, he hears a steady footfall, and he watches as Joe makes his way over in the darkness of the low-lit lab. Barry has cried a lot in recent days, but as he listens to the older man's voice, tears fill his eyes again.

His last few days have been unimaginably bleak, and his heart feels fragile, vulnerable and breakable like the globe in his hands. But there are different kinds of love. Iris cannot give him what he desperately wants, but he is far from alone. The heart has many facets, so many more than he'd ever realized when he was the little boy who'd curled up in his mother's arms.

His winter is only bleak until he falls into Joe West's arms for the millionth time and feels the unconditional love that has carried him for fourteen years.

—-

Joe passes out eggnog and smiles at the young people who fill his house, but his heart is heavy. His daughter's happiness is his son's pain. Who ever said it was easy to be a dad?

Still, there's joy in the kind of pain he feels. It's a hurt you only experience when you love someone so much you would give your life and more for them. To experience that kind of love is so fulfilling that it's worth every single moment of bleak pain it brings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone had wonderful holidays. I'd hoped to get this up closer to Christmas Day, but I was very unwell, and I had to have unexpected surgery just before New Year's. I'm feeling better now and looking forward to the return of The Flash!
> 
> "In the Bleak Midwinter" was written by the poet Christina Rossetti and is my favorite Christmas song.
> 
> Also, the reason I'm spelling it "Bear" is that Candice Patton confirmed that Joe and Iris actually call Barry "Bear" rather than an abbreviation of his name like "Barr."


	23. Belonging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Somewhere I Belong," he finally writes at the top of the page. He tries to make something up, to imagine a different reality than the one he inhabits. He can't do it. It's too close.

Belonging

Iris stares across the table at Barry, wondering why his homework is taking so long. Normally, he finishes before she does. His favorite subjects are math and science, but he's good at everything academic. Before he'd moved in, she'd known she was intelligent. She still knows she's smart, but Barry is brilliant on another level— the kind of smart, she thinks, that wins things like Nobel Prizes. That's why it's so weird that he's sitting at the dining room table staring at a blank piece of paper.

She doesn't say anything. She's learned from painful experience that boys are sensitive, far more than she'd ever realized before her surrogate brother moved in. People say that girls are the emotional ones, but she knows the truth. You can crush Barry Allen with a word.

Still, she's worried. It's not like him to be confused.

\--

Barry taps his Number 2 pencil against the edge of Joe's wooden dining table and tries to concentrate. English homework isn't his favorite, but he's not bad at it. The teacher even says he could become a writer some day if he really wanted to. Today, though, he can't think of anything to say.

He'd known it would be this way since Mrs. Feldman had first written the assignment on the board—a five-paragraph essay about somewhere you belong. Should be easy, right? He could tell she hadn't meant it to be difficult, but he'd been far too shy to go up to her at the end of class and tell her how empty and lost he felt at the thought of trying to write about something that no longer existed.

He doesn't belong at the house he'd shared with his parents. He still goes there, but the windows are boarded up, and the feeling is different. It's not home any more. He also doesn't belong in the small, cozy house Iris and Joe West call home. They're contented and warm; he feels cold most of the time. Sometimes he's afraid the ugly feelings that lurk inside him will escape and pollute the happiness they share.

"Somewhere I Belong," he finally writes at the top of the page. He tries to make something up, to imagine a different reality than the one he inhabits. He can't do it. It's too close.

\--

"Son, do you need some help?" Joe finally puts his novel aside and ventures the question after Iris is in bed. He can't remember a single day when it's ever taken Barry this long to finish his homework. He's half afraid it's something he won't be able to help with, like physics or advanced functions, but the bewildered look on the kid's face tugs at his heartstrings.

Barry shakes his head, his shoulders slumped. "It's just a stupid English paper," he says quickly. "No big deal."

"Show me." Joe walks over and rests a light hand on the boy's shoulder. He's learned Barry well enough by now to know when something is a problem.

Barry takes his science book off the edge of his lined notebook paper, and Joe reads the heading. It's written strongly, like the boy has traced over the same letters over and over, trying to make them mean something. The cop closes his eyes tightly and takes a deep breath. Some things hurt so much it's like having the wind knocked out of him. He's glad Barry can't see his face.

"Barry," he finally says, "you need a break." He smiles at the kid's confused face as he walks him over to the sofa. It's late, but one night won't kill anyone. He turns on the TV and finds an "Andy Griffith Show" rerun. He always did like that program.

Thirty minutes later, the cop looks over and sees that his son's eyes are drowsy. He figures he'll send a note with Barry in the morning, to explain why it's too much to ask a kid in his situation to write that kind of essay.

"Time for bed," he says, turning off the TV. Barry starts to get up, but Joe stops him with a hand on his knee. "Look at me." The boy nods and turns wide green eyes toward him.

"As far as I'm concerned, you belong right here—and you always will." Barry shuffles off, and the older man wonders if he made any kind of impression.

The next morning, Joe gets up early to write to Barry's teacher. He sits down at the table, smiling to himself at the sight of daughter's and son's backpacks, ready for the day; Iris always packs them as soon as she wakes up. He leans down to move Barry's backpack out of the way, when he notices the kid's paper from the night before sticking out of the front pocket. This time, it's covered in writing.

The cop's eyes blur as he reads five paragraphs about spaghetti and homework and movies and boxing. "I guess the important thing," says the last sentence, "is that it isn't really about a place; it's about the people who keep saying you belong, even when you don't feel like it."

\--

Joe looks over and finds a drowsy Barry on the sofa next to him. He doesn't say what he's thinking, which is that his sleepy son at 25 doesn't look all that different from his sleepy son as a preteen. "Allen," he says, "let's go sleep."

"Are there sheets on my bed?" the kid asks, yawning.

"Of course," Joe answers. "I always kept your room ready. Figured you might be back when you got this 'having my own apartment' thing out of your system."

Barry grins, then turns serious. "Joe?"

"Yeah?" The cop turns around on his way to the kitchen to put two empty bottles into the recycling.

"Thanks—for making me feel like I still belong here."

"Son," says Joe, staring down the scientist who's taller than he is, "you'll always belong here."


	24. Irreplaceable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "To me, he's my kid. Not sure he'll ever feel that way."

Irreplaceable 

Iris stands in the baggage claim area of Central City Airport, eagerly scanning the crowds of travelers getting off the escalator. She's holding two huge "Welcome Home" balloons . It's not like Barry hasn't been home for a million visits before, but this time is different; he's back to stay.

As soon as she spies a tall, thin form with green eyes and a wide smile, Iris runs toward her best friend and jumps into his arms, nearly strangling him with the string from one of her balloons. "Hey, Iris," he says, untangling both of them. "I missed you. Where's Joe?"

"He's driving the car around so we won't have to walk that far."

Fifteen minutes and two suitcases later, Iris follows Barry into her dad's police car. "Hey, Kid," says her dad, turning around in his seat. "If there wasn't so much traffic, I'd get out for a hug. Where to first?"

"I was thinking you could drop me and my stuff off at the apartment, and then I'll come over to the house when I've had time to change clothes and get my bearings." It seems normal enough, but as soon as he says it, Iris feels a weird atmosphere in the car.

When they reach the weathered apartment building, Iris watches her dad get out and wrap his arms around Barry in a bone-crushing bearhug, then help him carry his bags up a flight of stairs. There's still something off. She knows both men too well to miss it.

Joe comes back after a few minutes, and Iris immediately starts grilling him. "What's the deal, Dad? You're upset with him, and you don't want him to know, right?"

The cop doesn't answer for a little while, and she's afraid he's going to insist on silence. After a while, though, when he's stopped at a light, he turns to her. "I'm not mad, Baby. I just—don't think that's a safe place to live."

"Translation: What you mean is you want him to move back into our house," says Iris.

"He's single, and he has no reason to take on a rent payment when there's room at our place."

Iris narrows her eyes and takes a long look at his face. "What's really worrying you, Daddy?" She only calls him that when she's concerned.

"Honestly, Iris, I'm afraid I've lost him." Joe doesn't look at her, his eyes on the road ahead as he turns onto their street. "He has a reason to keep driving up to Iron Heights. Whatever Henry Allen did, he's still Barry's father, and you're his best friend. I'm just—"

"The guy who put him through school and went to bat for him with the chief about the forensics job," Iris puts in, "among a million and two other little things like raising him. Do you think Barry's forgotten all that?"

"Nope," her dad answers. "I know he's grateful, but that's different. To me, he's my kid. Not sure he'll ever feel that way."

Iris gives him a side hug on the way into the house. She wants to fix it, but she's not sure how.

\--

Barry puts his clothes into the chipped dresser he purchased off Craigslist, the one Joe picked up for him and put in the apartment, in spite of his disapproval of Barry's choice of living situations. Of course, Joe doesn't think there's a safe apartment in all of Central City. He's seen too many crime reports.

It's strange to be moving into a place that isn't the West house or a dorm room, but something feels right about it. Barry can't face the idea of living next to Iris, not when he can't work up the courage to explain that he wants to be more than a friend, and he's been gone from Central City for most of five years. He's not exactly the same Barry Allen who drove cross country with Joe and Iris for his first semester of college.

He's bolder for one thing. Years of in-class presentations and having to defend position papers and experiment reports have made him more direct than he used to be. Not that that makes it any easier to contemplate asking Joe West what's wrong. That's never easy, no matter how old you get.

\--

Joe is making pasta when Barry gets to the house. As soon as she see him and gets another hug, Iris heads for the door. "I'm going to pick up garlic bread," she says.

"You want company?" Barry asks.

"No—um—why don't you talk to Dad?" she says quickly. Joe almost rolls his eyes. She can be amazingly obvious.

"Hey, Joe." Barry comes into the kitchen and leans against the wall, watching the process he's seen a thousand times.

"Son," says the cop, looking up in time to see Barry rub the back of his neck nervously.

"Are you still mad at me about the apartment?" The question hangs in the air, and Joe is sorely tempted to say yes. It would be easy to say he's angry that Barry disregarded his opinion, to keep it that simple, but it would be a lie.

"Nope," he finally answers.

"Joe, I'm sorry for whatever I did, ok?" Barry's tone is plaintive, and Joe almost laughs at how much he sounds like himself ten years younger.

The cop washes his hands deliberately and then wipes them on a towel before turning to face his surrogate son. "Barry Allen, I don't think you've done something wrong intentionally for about eight years. To be honest, I just don't want to lose you."

Barry blinks. "Joe, why do you think I moved back to Central City? I care about Iris, but we've been doing fine as long-distance friends. I had—a lot of offers of places to work. I chose this one for a reason. My family's here, and I don't just mean in Iron Heights. I'm a lot harder than this to get rid of."

Joe puts a hand on the kid's shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "I'm glad you're home, Son."

"Me too," Barry answers. "And Joe? Just so you know, it wouldn't be home without you."


	25. Iron Heights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry Allen has been in Iron Heights for fourteen years, but he's still had a profound effect on his son's life.

Iron Heights

"Are you sure you want to do this, Barry?" Iris turns a concerned face toward her best friend, who's putting on his red jacket in the front room of the West house.

"Uh huh," he says. It's not like him to be so quiet, but she understands. Joe comes out of his bedroom, and Iris shoots him a worried glance. He smiles reassuringly.

"Ready to go, Bear?"

"Yeah," Barry replies, following him toward the door. "Bye, Iris."

"Be good, Baby," Joe says. "Mrs. Bryant from next door is home if you need anything while I'm gone."

She grins. "Don't worry, Dad. I'm old enough to stay by myself for a couple of hours."

Her father looks like he's not entirely sure, but he puts a hand on Barry's shoulder and ushers him outside, looking back and leaving his little girl with a wink.

Iris shuts the door and goes back inside, not sure what she wants to do. She could watch television or play computer games or call a friend, but she just ends up on the living room couch, thinking about her dad and Barry driving to Iron Heights to see Dr. Allen for the first time in months, the first time since—that first time, when Barry came home looking like somebody had punched him in the gut.

"Baby, it's his choice. It's not fair not to let him go," her dad had said gently to her the night before, while she was perched on his bed next to him, cuddled into his side. Uncharacteristically, for once, she'd wanted him to say no, and he was determined to say yes.

"But last time was horrible, Daddy. He was a mess for like three weeks."

Joe turns toward her and scoops her into his lap. "You've got to put yourself in Barry's shoes, sweetheart. If I was in jail, wouldn't you want to see me, even if it made you feel bad?"

The little girl nods. There's not much she can say to that. She leans into her dad's hug and tries to imagine what it would be like if he wasn't around. It's too awful to think about, so instead she closes her eyes and lets herself drift to sleep in her father's embrace.

Something changes after that night. Iris doesn't tell her dad, but that little exercise in imagination—trying to feel what Barry feels—puts doubt into her mind about Dr. Allen. If somebody tried to put Joe in jail, she'd be just as sure of his innocence as Barry is about his father's. Maybe, she starts to think, he could be right.

\--

Barry holds it together this time, just barely. He sees his dad behind glass, smiling and gentle, like he's always been. He looks a little tired, but otherwise he's healthy.

"Hey, Tiger," he says into the big, weird phone they have to communicate through.

"Hi, Dad," he says, not sure what he's supposed to say. Thankfully, his father takes over and starts asking him about school, science club, life with the Wests. He's totally into the conversation when Joe taps him on the shoulder.

"Time's up, Barry." He's about to get mad, but his father's face looks back at him, and he sees an almost-imperceptible shake of the head.

It's always been their signal when Barry is about to misbehave, like a yellow caution light. Henry Allen isn't strict, but he's consistent when it comes to obedience and respect. That shake of the head isn't something Barry ignores. Ever.

And he doesn't ignore it now. He rearranges his expression and gets an affirming nod from his father before guards lead the doctor away. Once Henry is out of sight, the little boy knows he could throw the fit he wanted to pitch, but his heart isn't in it any more. It's not Joe's fault he can't stay; he knows that.

He gets up slowly and looks up at the tall cop. "Thanks for bringing me here." They're alone in the room, and Joe reaches down and gives him a tight hug. Of course. That's what Joe does. Barry leans into it. He needs the comfort.

\--

Joe drives his foster son home, stealing a glance at the little boy's face once in a while. It's not like Barry to be silent. Usually, he's going on about some scientific discovery that the cop can barely comprehend. But it's understandable today, the pensive look on the kid's face and the fact that he's not talking.

"I'm proud of you," Joe says after a while.

"Huh?" Barry looks at him with wide-open, curious eyes.

"A lot of people wouldn't have gone back to Iron Heights, Son. They'd have turned their back and tried to forget about it. It took a man's courage to go back in there."

"Joe, why won't you believe my dad didn't do it?"

The question hits him like a punch to the gut. They've never talked about it like this—calmly, rationally, out in the open. For months it's been the unspoken rift between them. He recognizes the amount of trust it takes for Barry to ask him, to give him a chance to defend a position the little boy thinks is indefensible.

He sighs. "I'm sorry, Barry," he says, choosing his words carefully. "You didn't deserve any of the things that happened to your family. You're a great kid, and you should have had better. I can't—I wish I could agree with you. I wish I could tell you that you're right, that it's all made up, that something else did what your dad was convicted of. But I can't, Barry, and that hurts me every single day."

"I want you to know something, though." He stops at a light and looks Barry in the eyes. "You can trust me. I'm not going anywhere, and I'll never give up on you."

For the first time, Barry doesn't yell back. He doesn't scream that Joe is wrong or try to argue with him. In his peripheral vision, the older man sees him slump in his seat and hears him sigh.

He makes a pact with himself then and there. He can't agree with Barry's fantasies about that horrible night, but he won't say a negative word about Henry Allen. Not ever, no matter how tempted he gets. A boy should be able to love his father, no matter what he's done.

That night, after he kisses Iris, Joe goes in to sit beside Barry until he falls asleep. He knows the kid will need him tonight. Iron Heights days always bring nightmares with them. He sits down and watches the motionless body under the covers, face turned toward the wall. Joe has come to treasure these nighttimes. There's a closeness that comes, a childlike vulnerability he gets to see that Barry rarely lets out during the day. If they ever manage to really have a relationship, he thinks, it will be because of these nights.

"Joe, thanks for taking me to see my dad." Barry's voice is thick with sleepiness.

"You're welcome," the cop says honestly, the sincere gratitude warming him inside. He can't resist brushing a hand across the boy's forehead and letting it rest for a minute, feeling the soft hair under his hand.

Unbidden, the face of Henry Allen comes to Joe's mind, and for once, he feels sorry for him. He can't sympathize, but he can sure as heck empathize. The idea of being permanently separated from his kids is unbearable to even think about.

I'm doing my best for him, Henry, he whispers to himself. That's all he can do.

\--

Iris's life is in the apartment she shares with Eddie, metaphorically and literally—sort of. She can't stop thinking about Barry's agonized admission to her at Christmas. It feels like somebody's stabbing her in the heart whenever she lets herself remember that awful day.

And she still knows which days are Iron Heights days. She still spends them distracted, her mind wandering to Barry and imagining the long drive that culminates in a too-short visit with the father he adores. She believes fully in Henry's innocence now; that makes it hurt even more.

She still texts Joe every single time.

How's Barry, Dad? Did he go to Iron Heights?

She can't rest until she gets his response.

He's fine, Baby. He's back already, and he's ok.

It's not the same as seeing Barry, hugging him, letting him know with her words and her arms how loved he is, but it's better than nothing.

\--

Joe used to think it was awful to live with Barry under his roof and the knowledge that there was nothing he could do to soften the horror of the fact that his father was his mother's murderer. Now he knows that there's something worse, far worse—knowing beyond doubt that Henry Allen is innocent and not being able to fix his fourteen-year mistake.

He knows he'll never be able to undo all the damage, and it weighs on him. But there's one thing he can do, and that's to call in a favor from a guard whose mistake he covered years before, a guy who owes him one in a major way.

His reward is the sunshine that breaks across Barry Allen's face when he sees his father in front of him, in the flesh, not behind plexiglass. It's a small thing, but sometimes small things are really the biggest things of all.

And it's not just for Barry, either. Henry nods to him, and it's a gesture that says a thousand words—thanks for years of sacrifice that have produced the firecracker standing between them, the pure light bottled in a human container known as Barry Allen.

When he sees the kid through Henry's eyes, Joe lets himself feel, for a moment, that he might have done an ok job being Henry's surrogate. Just as quickly, though, the feeling fades. He smiles to himself. No way anybody can ever take credit for Barry. He's a gift, pure joy that can't be quantified, just enjoyed.

\--

Barry sits on the couch in the West house, drinking hot cocoa and waiting for Joe to get home, like he's thirteen again. He could have gone for something alcoholic, but he wants his mind to be clear. He keeps thinking over his conversation with his dad, a conversation that revealed, without a doubt, that Henry Allen knows his secret—and more than that, that he's proud.

He feels a mixture of worry and relief—fear that knowing will put Henry in danger, but deep relief at the fact that he's not lying to his father any more.

"I'm proud of you" has figured into almost every conversation the two of them have ever had in Iron Heights. Henry always makes a point of saying it, as if he's afraid Barry will forget. But this is different. This is approval of the thing Barry loves most in the world and most wants to be, from the man whose approval he wants most. It's like his best birthday and Christmas presents ever, all rolled into one.

"You look happy." Joe comes in and sits beside him, rubbing tired eyes.

"My dad figured it out, Joe. He knows I'm The Flash, and he says—he's proud of me." Barry can't help the catch in his voice or the grin on his face.

"Of course he's proud of you," the cop retorts. "You're everything a father could want, Flash or no Flash."

Barry blushes at the compliment and takes a sip of his cocoa, but Joe's face grows serious after a minute or two. "Son, I—want you to know how sorry I am—about your dad. I know you blame me, and you have every right to. I didn't believe you fourteen years ago, and I should have."

"Joe, stop," Barry says, leaning forward and putting a hand on his surrogate father's knee. "You've already apologized way too many times. I don't blame you, ok? When I was a kid, I blamed you because I needed somebody to blame, and when I first got my powers, I was confused and scared. I lashed out at you. But it's been years now since I've understood. You did what you thought was right, based on what you knew. You didn't do anything wrong."

Joe looks at him, and Barry sees tears in the older man's eyes. He stands up and inclines his head. "Come here." For once, he's the one who initiates the hard hug that follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People keep asking me for more WestAllen, but this story follows show canon, so it's not going there before the show does. If that upsets you, yell at the writers, not me ;) Personally, I think there's a lot of fun in slowly fleshing out Barry's and Iris's relationship as kids that has led them to where they are now.


	26. Saving the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iris, Barry, and Joe all confront aspects of their changing lives

Saving the World

"What are you doing?" Iris looks up at the sound of the door opening, followed immediately by Barry's question.

"Oh, Eddie's working through the night on a sting operation, and it makes him more comfortable if I spend the night over here." She rolls her eyes. "I'm fine alone, but he always gives me a big speech about how much danger I'd be in, and then I feel bad because he looks so cute when he's worried." She grins.

"No, I mean…what are you working on?" Barry clarifies, and she sees his eyes travel over the mound of magazine clippings she has strewn around her on the floor.

"Oh," Iris laughs, "my editor wants a piece on prominent citizens who might be The Flash, and since I'm the only one who's seen him, I got the assignment. It's silly, just a fluff piece. I mean, no famous people in Central City even fit his physical description. In that sense, he looks more like you than any of them."

Barry chuckles, and she looks up. "Don't laugh," she says. "You'd be a great superhero." She clicks return to start a new line of notes on her laptop screen, missing the blush that settles across Barry's face.

\--

A great superhero. Yeah, right, Barry thinks to himself as he goes to the kitchen to get a drink. A great superhero would have figured out how to balance his life, how not to worry his father, how to keep from lying to his best friend, how to reassure Joe that he's always careful.

Too often, though, The Flash feels a lot like the Barry Allen whose sneaker-clad feet had moved into the West house without ever really feeling like he'd left the house where his mother had breathed her last. It's not like in the comics, where problems always get sorted by the last frame, and a triumphant metahuman gains the praise of an entire city. It's much more like being a perpetual teenager, stuck between freedom and responsibility.

Even the idea of a date, which should be fantastic, is fraught with doubts. What if she doesn't really like him? What if she does? That's almost worse, in a way. It means more stomach-clenching deception and hiding half of his life from another woman he values.

Still, it could be worse. He has a free evening, and Iris is over. He can't stay depressed for long, not when she's across the room.

\--

These days, Joe doubts every decision he makes. There was a time, once, when he was self-assured. Too self-assured. It's the luxury of the young to think they know what they're doing. Hindisght isn't so kind.

It's with the deepest reluctance that he partners with Ramon, not because he doubts the young scientist's sincerity or his ability. It's that he can't bear to hurt Barry any more than he already has. He was supposed to be the one constant in a little boy's turmoil, the one person who could always be counted on. Instead, he'd created oceans more pain for someone who'd never deserved any of what had happened to him. That's how he sees it, anyway, and no amount of trust and forgiveness can erase what he perceives to be the lion's share of blame that belongs to him.

But his world is changed. There are metahumans around him, and nothing he'd believed before feels certain. Solving Nora Allen's murder isn't just about bringing peace to his surrogate son, though the idea of doing that is enough to make him work for a lifetime. It's also about saving the world, or something like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy The Flash is Back Day!


	27. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe, to anyone else, it wouldn't seem all that earthshattering. After all, it's not the last time Barry runs, and most of the time, he still sneaks off like he's committing a crime.
> 
> But later, when he thinks back to that first year, Joe can't help remembering that night. Something had changed between them. A gap had been bridged. Trust had started to grow where it hadn't existed before.

Trust

Iris is irritated. There are some things she can handle easily, like Barry sharing her toothpaste and her house and her comic books. What she can't take is her foster brother's distrust of her father. He's been in her house seven whole months, and he still acts like Joe is the Grinch who stole Christmas.

It's an October night, and Joe makes it home to take Barry to the planetarium for a school assignment with fifteen minutes to spare. "I told him you'd be here, dad," Iris explodes when he walks through the door. "He's been checking the clock every two minutes." Usually, the upset look on Barry's face would be enough to quiet her, but she's had it. She's so furious she doesn't even notice her dad's raised eyebrow.

"Let's go, Bear," says Joe quietly, but Iris can't resist one last dig.

"See, you don't have to be such a weirdo about this."

Her father turns around and catches her eye, and this time, she doesn't miss it. "That's enough. Iris, you're grounded. We'll talk about it when I get home." He puts his arm around Barry's slumping shoulders, and the two leave the house.

At first, Iris is furious. Doesn't her dad understand? Her anger doesn't last long; it never does. Too soon, she remembers the sadness on Barry's face and how disappointed her father had been. Grounded just means the house, but Iris goes to her room. She doesn't want to see Barry when he gets back. Instead, she sits on her bed with her stuffed cow and wonders how on earth she could have gone so wrong.

After an hour, the little girl hears the front door open and voices come into the house, followed by a tap at her door. "Uh huh?"

Joe comes into the room, and as soon as Iris sees him, she starts crying. She isn't in trouble very often, and even at twelve, she hates displeasing him.

"I'm sorry, Dad," she sobs, but Joe just comes and sits beside her and puts his arms around her.

"I'm proud of you, Sweetheart."

"Huh?" That's surprising enough to stop the tears for a few seconds.

"I know it hasn't been easy having Barry here, and you've been so good about everything. To be honest, I thought we'd have a lot more of these issues, but you've surprised me, Baby."

Iris shakes her head. "I know it's not his fault. It's just that he always acts like you're not going to do whatever you promised."

Joe tilts her chin up to look at him. "Iris, neither you nor I can imagine what it would be like to live through what Barry's lived through. Could you try to remember that? I know it's hard."

She nods, burying her face in the front of his uniform shirt. "How long am I grounded for?"

Her father hugs her close. "You're not grounded. I changed my mind."

"What? Why?" Iris pulls back, hardly able to believe her ears. Her dad never changes his mind when he's decided something like that.

Joe smiles. "Barry begged me not to ground you, and I don't want to disappoint him."

Ten minutes later, once she's scraped up her courage, Iris goes down the hall and knocks on Barry's door. "Come in, Joe," he says.

"It's me, Barry," she answers softly, coming inside and finding him at his desk. She sits on his bed opposite him.

"Hi, Iris." Barry grins at her, which makes her feel a lot worse. It would be easier if he held a grudge, but he's always been quick to forgive.

"I'm really sorry about what I said," she says quickly, wanting to get the apology out of the way.

"That's ok," he answers, looking anywhere but at her face. "I know having me here must bug you a lot."

"No way!" she says emphatically. "Having you here is—the best thing that ever happened to me."

Barry blushes to the tops of his ears. "Do you mean that for real?"

"Of course I do," she answers, "and—thanks for sticking up for me with my dad. That was really cool of you."

"You—you're the cool one," Barry stutters out, and the two of them fall silent and grin at each other until it's awkward.

\--

"You ok, Bear?" Joe's voice pulls Barry out of his thoughts.

"Yeah," he says quietly, getting up from the curb and shouldering his bookbag.

"I'm sorry I'm late," the cop adds. "I had to hold a gun on a guy until backup got there."

"Ok," the little boy almost whispers.

"Did you think I wasn't coming?" There it is, out in the open, the exact thing Barry's been thinking for the past half hour. For a second, not for the first time, he wonders if Joe can read his mind. Somehow, Joe always knows.

Barry doesn't answer, but Joe drops to the ground anyway, crouching and facing him. "Son, I would never do that to you. You're my kid. That means, if I say something, I mean it, and I'm never going to leave you on your own." He stands back up, and the two walk the rest of the way to the car in silence.

"Joe?" Barry finally says when they're halfway home.

"Hmm?"

"I—want to go home tonight."

\--

Joe West blinks.

Barry runs. He doesn't tell you when he's going to. He just goes, off like a little streak with the goal of going to one place and one place only. He's not hard to find—once you know he's gone, that is. But he never warns you ahead of time.

Until now. There's so much trust in the boy's six words that the cop feels like he could burst from it.

"Well, Son, what if we go together?"

That's how, in the half light of near-dusk, Joe West finds himself in the front of the tragic house where Nora Allen breathed her last, with his arm around her son's thin shoulders. He's run after Barry and found him here dozens of times, and it's always the same. The kid doesn't do anything. He just watches, with a look on his face that's so heartrending it's almost unbearable.

Joe is patient. He waits, never breaking contact, until the night turns to inky blackness, and Barry finally says, "I'm ready to go." His voice is hoarse, like there are tears in his throat.

"All right," answers his surrogate father, leading the way back to his cruiser.

Maybe, to anyone else, it wouldn't seem all that earthshattering. After all, it's not the last time Barry runs, and most of the time, he still sneaks off like he's committing a crime.

But later, when he thinks back to that first year, Joe can't help remembering that night. Something had changed between them. A gap had been bridged. Trust had started to grow where it hadn't existed before.

\--

Iris doesn't want to research Star Labs. It's ironic that the one story Mason Bridge wants to give her is the one story she doesn't want. It's not that she doesn't see that there's something mightily shifty about Harrison Wells. She's not an idiot. It's that she can't bear the thought of being the one who destroys Barry's belief in one of the only mentors he's ever trusted.

She still remembers how long it took her best friend to believe that when Joe said something, he really meant it. And that wasn't even half the battle. It had taken him far longer to trust her father's heart, so long she'd thought it might never happen—until the day she'd finally realized it had.

It's not fair to him to take away what he's built at Star Labs, the trust—and love—he has for the enigmatic man in the wheelchair.

Or maybe it's not fair to turn a blind eye. She just doesn't know.

\--

Barry stands in the living room of his childhood home, and his pulse quickens. He can tell Joe is tentative, concerned about him, worried about what the images and information he and Cisco have discovered will do to the kid he loves. Barry tries to be stoic so he doesn't worry Joe more, but he can't help showing his excitement and his fear.

Time travel isn't possible. Neither is superspeed. He has the second one; the first one means he might see his mother again. That's all he can think about. Seeing her, talking to her, feeling her arms around him.

Saving her.

But if saving her is possible, why didn't he succeed? The evidence tells the story of his failure.

But maybe, just maybe, the story the walls tell isn't permanent, isn't a fixed point that can't be changed. Hope and despair and grief and excitement course through Barry's veins, mixing and setting him on fire.

\--

Later that night, Joe sits on the couch and channel surfs, stealing furtive looks over at Barry when the kid isn't paying attention, trying to figure out if he's ok. "You're quiet tonight," he finally says.

"Just thinking," Barry answers, stretching his long arms. "It's a lot to think about, you know?"

Joe nods. "I wasn't sure I should tell you. I was afraid you'd be mad at me for working with Ramon behind your back."

"Nope. Things have been so crazy lately—you knew I couldn't handle it until you'd found something definite. I get it." Barry turns wide green eyes onto him. "I trust you."

Joe reaches across the sofa and taps his foster son's knee. "I'm glad, Son. I used to think we'd never get there."

"Me either," Barry agrees, grinning, "but you never gave up."

"Of course not," Joe agrees. "You were too important."


	28. Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The worst day sometimes reveals the best things.

Time

Iris’s brain is on fire.

Her love for Eddie is peaceful, a calm oasis. Her love for Barry is as wild as the tempestuous sky above Central City that threatens to eradicate all she holds dear.  
He is not her brother. She realizes now that what she thought of as care for a sibling was actually something very different—the early, innocent beginnings of the love that binds two people together for a lifetime. Their lips meet. It’s not like something unexpected. It’s like something inevitable, the end result of a magnetic force as strong as any of Barry’s much-loved natural laws. 

It all makes sense now. She has often wondered how she can feel as at home in Barry’s arms as she feels in her father’s, why she has never been able to reconcile herself to the idea of him with a girlfriend. None of the other girls were good enough. No, that’s not right any more. The truth is, the real problem is that none of them were her.

She would love nothing more than to stay in his arms, listening to the thump of his heartbeat and knowing that it’s beating for her. But there’s a flash of red, and suddenly, she sees. There’s a reason he always looks familiar, the man in the suit and the mask. There’s a reason he’s so gentle with her, even when he won’t talk to anyone else. 

She knows now why he winked.

“You’d better fix this, Allen,” she thinks. She wants a nice, long chance to tell him exactly what she thinks about how long he’s been lying to her. Love isn’t just kissing. Sometimes it’s giving someone a piece of your mind.

Over the past fourteen years, Iris has given Barry a piece of her mind approximately four hundred and forty-three times; however, she’s never before snuggled in his arms while she was doing it. That part sounds like heaven.  
\--  
Barry is holding the woman he loves.

Oh, sure, he’s hugged Iris lots of times—hundreds of times. The Wests wouldn’t let him out of hugs from the first day he’d walked into their house. And he’s glad.  
But this is different. There’s no more pretense of being brother and sister, no more aching heartbreak of loving where he isn’t loved back. This is about how well Iris fits into his arms, how safe he feels with her lips on his, the strength coursing through him and into her and back again, like electricity flowing through metal.

The story of his past fourteen years is a story of running, of trying to find his way back home. He knows now what home feels like, what it smells like, how it tastes on his mouth. Home is not a place; home is a person.

She will be angry; he knows that, as he experiences the nanoseconds just before she will see who he truly is. It won’t be the first time. He knows all too well what it feels like to incur her white-hot wrath.

But love isn’t just kissing. Sometimes it’s knowing someone is mad at you and feeling safe anyway. Maybe, sometimes, that part is even more important.  
\--  
Joe is pretty sure he’s going to die. He’s faced death before, but he’s never been quite so certain he wasn’t going to make it out. There’s only one Barry Allen; he’d rather see his kid save the city than save him.

Strangely, as he feels himself weaken, it’s not Iris who worries him. He loves her, more than he’s ever been able to say, but he knows, deep down, that she will be all right. He’s been overprotective at times, but his daughter has always been strong, and she will survive.

“Baby, take care of Barry.” That’s why he wishes he had ESP. He would tell Iris how much he loves her, and then he would tell her to keep Allen close, to protect his fragile heart the way she’s been doing for fourteen years, to remember how much he needs her.

“Love you, Bear.” That would be his last message, if he had ESP. He would impress on that stubborn, sweet kid’s mind that he’s not alone and never has been. He would leave Central City with a hero who isn’t broken any more.

But Joe West doesn’t have ESP, and Iris needs time to figure out what she can’t see. And he needs more time to heal the broken light they call the Flash. “I have to live,” he breathes, just before he falls unconscious.


	29. Nobody Owns Iris West

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a bittersweetness to Iris's rejection. It's painful, but it's so very Iris. She's always known what she wants, and she goes for it, whether it's a job at her favorite coffee shop or the heart of Eddie Thawne.

Nobody Owns Iris West

"Dad," says Iris, coming into the house in a huff, "Casey has a boyfriend." She's twelve, and her friends are starting to pair up with each other and hold hands at in the cafeteria at lunch.

"Oh?" says Joe, looking up from his novel, "what do you think about that?"

"I think it's disgusting!" she explodes, all the ire of her sixth-grade self pouring into the air.

"Why is that?" asks her father. He's trying to hide his pleased smile but not doing a very good job of it.

"She's turned into this other person," Iris explains. "Like, all she does is talk about Tyler and wait for him to call her. It's like he owns her or something. I mean, how creepy is that?"

"Creepy," Joe agrees. "Baby, real love isn't like that. What they have is fake; it's kid stuff. you don't need that. Iris, nobody owns you."

"I know," she agrees readily.

And she does know. All through middle and high school, Iris West is friends with everybody and doesn't pair off with anyone. It's not like she doesn't have offers, but none of them matter to her. She has dates to prom, but they're friends, not serious boyfriends.

She's that thing that nobody believes exists, a girl who genuinely believes in herself. Some people adore her for it; others hate her. But wherever she is, she makes an impression. That's just the way it is. You're not around Iris West for long without forming an opinion. But she really doesn't care what it is. Nobody owns her.

\---

Lightning psychosis is a nice excuse, a safety net cooked up by the fast-moving brain of Dr. Caitlin Snow. But Barry should have known, and he realizes it. You can't box Iris in, and you can't tell her what she thinks. Time travel is a confusing thing, and he's beginning to see how painful it can be. But still, he should have known. Nobody owns Iris West.

Nobody owned her when she was ten and joined the geography challenge team. The other kids laughed at her for being a nerd, but she won a blue ribbon and stuck it to the front of her locker.

Nobody owned her when she decided to do competitive boxing in tenth grade, even though girls never did that. Joe was a basket case, Barry remembers, but he didn't need to be. She won all but one round, and she quit after that year—she'd had nothing else to prove; she was the best.

Nobody owned her when she almost failed trigonometry and had to take it again her senior year to improve her GPA. She got an A that time because she worked her head off. Higher math wasn't going to get her down any more than the stupid kids who called her fat in fifth grade. She just stared at them until they got scared and tiptoed away.

There's a bittersweetness to Iris's rejection. It's painful, but it's so very Iris. She's always known what she wants, and she goes for it, whether it's a job at her favorite coffee shop or the heart of Eddie Thawne.

Nobody owns Iris West, and Barry loves her for it.

\---

Joe has trouble letting go. After losing a wife, he's terrified of losing a daughter and a surrogate son. As Iris grows up, though, he's confronted with the truth: the woman he's raised knows exactly who she is, and she won't be owned by anybody.

That's why he acts like he wants to kill Eddie Thawne, but it's all for show. Iris has never been one of those girls who loses herself in a man. Her love is a lot better than that because it's fully hers, not stuck inside insecurity and self-doubt. She brings the whole of herself to the man she loves.

And he's a good man.

One night, she stops by Joe's office. He's working late, finishing case paperwork. "Dad," she says, "I think Eddie might be the one."

"Yeah?" he asks, trying to be calm, even though his heart is racing.

"Yeah," she answers. "He loves me just the way I am, Dad—just like you."

Joe smiles and hugs her, but he can't help thinking about somebody else who loves her just the way she is-a tall, earnest scientist who grew up next door to her and has seen a lot more of her worst days that Eddie Thawne.

But nobody owns Iris West. That's how he raised her, and he's proud, even when she stands on her own two feet and forces him to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know it's been a while. Thank you for sticking with this story. When I started writing it, I was undergoing chemotherapy, and I'm still dealing with side effects and recovery from major surgery and cancer treatment. For a while, I haven't been up to writing very much, but I plan to continue the story now that I'm improving.


	30. Father's Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many things fill his days, but only a few things truly make a life, and one of those is the deep, aching, gaping need for his father's approval. And, he now realizes, he's always had it.

Father's Eyes

"Barry, you have to stop." Iris is sitting on the floor, leaning on the living room couch on which her foster brother is currently lying, like they're having some kind of pseudo-therapy session.

Barry sighs audibly. "I can't. Every time I sleep, I dream about it, and when I wake up, I remember, and I think about all the things I might have done to save her."

Iris turns around to face him. "I don't understand why this is happening now. I mean, I know you still miss your mom, but you weren't like this before. It was—different."

"I'm older," Barry answers, sounding like he's eighty instead of fourteen. "For a long time, I just thought I was a victim of this terrible thing. Now I wonder if I—if I was meant to prevent it, and I just didn't do it."

His best friend gets up and sits beside him, putting her arm around his thin shoulders. "Barry, nobody could have stopped it. It's not your dad's fault, and it's not your fault either."

"Thanks," he answers, but he thinks to himself that it's unfair that superheroes aren't real. "If only I'd been like Superman," he whispers to himself, "my mom would be here, and my dad would be free." He knows it's not his fault, but he feels like a failure anyway.

\---

Barry Allen takes off his mask in front of the person whose approval means most to him in the world. He watches as his father's face light up, filled with pure joy, as if the past decade never happened.

Barry used to think superheroes were just stories in comic books. Now that he is one, it's bittersweet. That child, that little boy with the terrified eyes, didn't know what he would become. And maybe it's for the best. He sometimes wonders if it was worse to think he was too weak to save his mother, or if it's worse now that he's strong but still not strong enough to do what he most wants to do.

Henry Allen's arms encircle him in a tight hug, and all of his fears and disappointments are forgotten for a moment. He feels like he felt when he was in first grade and brought a blue ribbon home from the science fair. He'd never seen his father so proud.

Sometimes Barry Allen's life feels insanely complicated, as if all the disparate threads of his existence—his powers, his job, his love for Iris, his grief—are in such a tangled mess that he will never make sense of them all. But then, sometimes, in the golden moments, it all boils down to something simple.

Many things fill his days, but only a few things truly make a life, and one of those is the deep, aching, gaping need for his father's approval. And, he now realizes, he's always had it.

Henry never cared if he got straight A's or won prizes or dated the prettiest girls. Every visit to Iron Heights, he now sees, has led father and son here, to the time when he finally understands the truth.

He may be a superhero now, but he was always a hero in his father's eyes.

\---

Joe and Barry are at home, watching late night TV. Henry is back in prison, and things are calm again in Central City—for the time being.

"You ok?" Barry's pulls his surrogate father from his thoughts.

"Sure, why?" Joe yawns.

"You were staring at me."

"Sorry," the cop answers, taking a drink from the bottle next to him. "Sometimes I can't believe you're the same person as that kid who moved in. I was just thinking about how time flies."

"You know, Joe," Barry replies, looking away, "that kid didn't act like it—but he really cared what you thought about him."

"Look at me." Joe locks eyes with the man who was once a boy in running shoes who used to try to get away but really wanted to be caught. "Barry, I hope that kid knows I thought the world of him, and I still do."

"He does." A grin fills Barry's face, and like it always has, it reminds Joe of the sun coming out after a storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 30 chapters in, and I want to say thanks to everyone who has left feedback on this story and continues to read it. I was on chemo when I started writing it, and I've had two surgeries while it was going on, and I'll be having a third one in a couple of weeks. Writing helps keep me sane, and I'm incredibly grateful for your support.


	31. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She feels like a human lie detector, and it's a superpower she doesn't want.

Secrets

Eddie Thawne is a bad liar. You'd think it would make him a bad cop, or at least Iris would have thought so, but it doesn't. It's not like he's an undercover narc or anything; he's just a detective with a good head on his shoulders.

It's funny, except when he's lying to her.

She's no idiot, and she's never been the kind of girl who's ok with being the dutiful girlfriend sitting at home while her man goes out and does whatever the heck he feels like. Joe West didn't raise her that way.

Iris is an equal partner, or she's not a partner at all.

But the fact remains, Eddie is lying. She can tell it from his texts and his phone calls, but it's even more obvious when he's standing in front of her.

The problem is, when she tries to talk to the guy who never lied to her growing up, the best friend who always told her the truth, even when it was hard, he can't look her in the eye either. She feels like a human lie detector, and it's a superpower she doesn't want.

\---

Barry hates keeping secrets about who he is. Well, that's not entirely true, he realizes. He doesn't mind if the world doesn't know all there is to know about Central City's forensic scientist. He's open by nature, but he understand why the Flash has to stay a secret.

What he really hates, when it comes down to unvarnished reality, is keeping the truth from Iris, the one girl to whom he has told every secret he's ever had. Every time he's had a crush on someone, she's been the very first to know. Every time he broke a house rule or had a nightmare. He couldn't lie to her.

Except now he's been lying to her for months, now that he finally knows that he loves her more than he ever has before. It eats him up inside, but his fear overcomes his loathing. He has to keep her safe.

Truth be told, when Eddie says it's stupid, he agrees. But Joe says they can't tell her, and Joe knows—maybe. Barry isn't sure any more.

\---

Joe West is claustrophobic. He didn't realize it until a police sting that required him to hide in an apartment's crawl space for three hours during his year as a rookie cop. He'd had a panic attack so severe he'd nearly passed out.

There are no walls closing in on him now, but he feels claustrophobic anyway. He knows as well as anyone that when it comes to the Flash and the metahumans and the craziness confronting his city, stasis is not an option, and, as much as he hates to admit it to himself, he knows he can't keep Iris out of it forever.

But he tries. With every fiber of his being, he tries. He's a stubborn man, and he keeps his secret close.


	32. Shapeshifting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iris, Barry, and Joe all wish they had the power to shapeshift.

Shapeshifting

Iris wishes she could shapeshift the way Hannibal Bates does. 

She wouldn’t steal or kill or take the identities of other people to hurt them the way he does. She would just become a better version of herself; she would find a better Iris to be.

A better Iris would keep her dad’s worry lines from deepening and his neck muscles from getting so tight that he needs chiropractic adjustments he won’t get. A better Iris would have figured out what was going on with Eddie, that all along he was helping The Flash, and she wouldn’t have made his worries even tougher. And a better Iris would be a better friend to Barry, someone he could turn to who wouldn’t just break his heart.

A lot of things are wrong in Central City, and as much as Iris tells herself it’s not her fault, that she’s just doing her best, she still feels like she’s not enough. If only she could shapeshift, she could be what everyone in her life needs her to be.

—-

Barry wishes he could shapeshift the way Hannibal Bates does.

He wouldn’t hurt anyone. He wouldn't even break the law—much. Just long enough to get his dad out of jail, he would be the judge and the jury and the prison guard.

Then he would take Henry somewhere far away, on vacation. If he wasn’t Barry Allen, he wouldn’t have his powers, and he could rest, for once, and just talk to the man he wants so desperately to know.

And he would, maybe, shapeshift into a realtor and sell Joe West a huge house at a ridiculously low price and maybe hire him a housekeeper, someone to do all the work he does around the house every weekend when he should be resting. 

The problem is, if he could shapeshift, he would become Eddie Thawne before he had time to do any of those other things, and he knows it. He would become Eddie, and as wrong as it might be, he would take Iris in his arms and finally kiss her and feel her kissing him back and know that there’s no obstacle between them.

In the end, he figures, it’s probably good he’s not a shapeshifter.

—-

Joe West wishes he could shapeshift the way Hannibal Bates does.

He would use that power to infiltrate every gang and catch every criminal in Central City and, maybe, in the whole country.

He wouldn’t do it for the glory. He would do it so that the world wouldn’t need Barry Allen any more, so that Iris would be safe, and so that Eddie and those Star Labs kids could live normal, ordinary, beautiful lives. 

Then, when he was all done, he would go back to being plain old Joe West, and he would be happy because it would be more than enough.


	33. Electric

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When she comes to visit, time itself gathers around to watch, because she is Iris West-Allen, the woman who has been and will be.

Electric

Iris sits beside her best friend’s hospital bed. She wants nothing more than to be sitting across from him at Jitters, telling him about Detective Pretty Boy across a couple of coffees. His eyes would light up, and he would grin and tell her to go for it, she’s sure. 

Instead, he doesn’t move, and his brain is inactive. She doesn’t know if he’ll ever wake up. She tells him anyway. Maybe, somewhere, he can hear. Sometimes she thinks it’s strange that she wants to be here all the time, when there’s a whole world of activity outside. If she’d really set her mind to it, she could have gotten Eddie Thawne to date her long before he finally asked. But her free time is spent in Barry’s room, listening to machines, and imagining what he would say if he was awake, all the conversations they would have.

The problem is, she can’t come up with the wise advice he’s always given her, the almost Zen-like pep talks that come out of nowhere and help her understand what to do when she can’t figure it out. Barry always says she’s the wise one, but she remembers all the times he’s been her rock and her anchor and the person who helps her to be the best person she can possibly be.

It seems complicated now, but what she doesn’t know is that months from now, it will be even more complicated, when she is faced with the fact that Eddie is desperately in love with her, but a part of her still wants to spend all of her time with Barry Allen.

—-

Barry Allen is becoming. No one but Harrison Wells knows that his coma is no coma at all. He’s like a butterfly in its chrysalis, waiting to burst out and fly away. His mind is inactive, or so it seems, except that Iris West is the only one who feels an electric shock when she touches him.

His unconscious knows what his consciousness has always tried so hard to hide—he is attracted to her the way magnetic poles cannot resist one another, always pulling toward each other until they come together unbreakably.

The spark within him, the spark that is creating his new body, is familiar with the beautiful girl who comes to visit, and it explodes out of Barry, just a little bit to greet her. 

She is Barry’s future and his destiny. It’s as simple and strange and complicated as that. When she comes to visit, time itself gathers around to watch, because she is Iris West-Allen, the woman who has been and will be. 

—-

Barry was always harder to raise than Iris, but Joe would give anything he could to go back to even the worst days, the days of yelling and crying and running, if it would mean that Barry’s eyes would open.

All the days blur together, and he doesn't usually talk that much when he comes to visit. He always means to talk, but then he starts to remember, the little things that stick in your mind, like the time Barry had walked to the precinct just to tell him he had his first girlfriend or the time they’d gone to Starling City just to see the Fourth of July fireworks. Remembering makes the tears come to his eyes, and usually he just sits there and holds Barry’s hand. On the days when he does talk, it’s usually about how much he misses his surrogate son, how much he wants him to come home. Occasionally, very occasionally, he talks about Iris.

“I know you love her,” he’ll say softly, putting his hand through Barry’s hair the way he used to when he was trying to help him sleep. “And I know she loves you. She just hasn’t realized it yet. You’ve got to come home, Bear, so you can work it out.” He has no idea how hard it’s going to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this seems out of sequence, it's because it goes alongside the episode that had all the flashbacks to when Barry was unconscious.


	34. Angry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's too strong to cave in and not hold him responsible, but that same strength gives her the power to forgive.

Angry

Love and hate are close cousins, and you can't be angry at someone without caring.

Iris West learns this when she's fourteen and Barry runs away. Usually, he's gone for a few hours, and both she and Joe know exactly where he is. This time, he doesn't come back. Joe takes his cruiser to the Allens' old house, but the boy is nowhere in sight.

At midnight, Joe calls it into the precinct. They do a citywide search, but no one can find the kid.

Iris gets angrier and angrier as the hours go by. Barry tells her everything, even when he's planning on doing something wrong. She can't believe he went away without warning her or even saying goodbye.

At ten o'clock the next morning, Barry comes into the West house on his own, dragging his feet and his suitcase. Iris expects her father go go crazy on him, but he doesn't. Joe just gives him a hug, asks him if he's ok, and Barry admits that he used his allowance to buy a bus ticket that took him a couple of hours away. Iris is so mad she can hardly look at him, let alone speak.

—

She feels the same exact way when she finds out her best friend is The Flash. That's how she knows she still cares about him.

At fourteen, she'd tried to give Barry the silent treatment, but it had only lasted for an hour before she'd found herself knocking on the door of his room and launching herself into his arms. "I'm really, really, really mad," she'd said, hugging him as tightly as she could.

"I'm sorry, Iris," he'd answered, returning her hug. "I should have told you."

At twenty-five, it's like deja vu has come calling. She's no more able to ignore Barry than she used to be. She holds him responsible for his deception, at least for the part of the blame she doesn't lay at at Joe's door.

Like always, Barry takes responsibility. Joe hadn't grounded him for running away all those years ago, understanding that he'd been motivated by inward turmoil he couldn't express, but he'd grounded himself—for Iris, to show her he meant his apology.

This time, he looks her in the eye and takes her disappointment like the man he is. And she loves him for it, just like she did when he was fourteen.

With Eddie Thawne locked up who-knows-where, at the mercy of a psychopath, that's a real problem. But it's one she can't escape. She loves Barry Allen more than she has ever loved another person, and he's far from being her brother.

\---

Barry feels the full weight of his lies. It's one thing to deceive people who will never know him as anything but a streak of red flashing past them. It's another thing to bear the responsibility of lying to the woman he loves, especially when he's felt that it was wrong all along.

He wouldn't blame Iris if she never forgave him; he really wouldn't.

But that's not how Iris is. The woman he loves is the strongest person he's ever known. She's too strong to cave in and not hold him responsible, but that same strength gives her the power to forgive.

\---

Joe is not a perfect father. He's never felt that as much as he feels it when Iris points out all the logical flaws in his reasons for deceiving her. But parental love is not a logical thing.

"You'd have known what to say," he whispers to the picture of his wife that he keeps on his bedside table. "But you'd never have done that to her in the first place."

Sometimes he feels like he's getting old. The problem is, when he looks at Iris, he doesn't see her getting older along with him. He still sees a daddy's girl that he wants to protect more than anything in the world.

But she's a grown woman, and she has a right to be angry. He doesn't want to admit it to himself, but he finally does.


	35. That Kind of Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry feels a big, warm hand on his shoulder. "Barry, this is one of those times when you have to decide what kind of man you're going to be."

That Kind of Guy

"Barry, I didn't think you were that kind of guy."

Iris is upset. She's just found her surrogate brother in the Central City High School annex with an unlit cigarette. She watches as he blushes to the roots of his hair and hastily throws it away.

"Please don't tell your dad."

Iris rolls her eyes. "You know I don't like keeping things from him."

"Honestly, Iris, it's the only time I've ever smoked, and I won't do it again. Tyler Arnold dared me."

"Oh, that's a great reason," Iris counters sarcastically.

"I know," Barry agrees, "but sometimes I hate being such a nerd."

She rolls her eyes again. "Yes, Barry, smoking will make you incredibly cool, and all of CCHS will love you forever."

The hurt look on his face stops her from continuing. "I'm sorry. I just don't get it. You're my best friend, and you have the science club and the chess club. You hang out with them all the time. You don't want to be the kind of person who hangs out with Tyler and those idiots."

Barry nods. "You're right.

\---

Iris keeps her word and doesn't tell Joe, but Barry has never been able to lie to either Joe or Iris with any success, and the truth eats away at him. After the second night when he goes to his room after dinner and doesn't even stay out to watch Jeopardy, his favorite show, he hears a knock on his door.

"It's me, Bear."

The teenaged Barry Allen isn't normally afraid of his foster father any more, but he knows how Joe feels about things like smoking and drinking and staying out late and partying, and, well, any of the stupid things teenagers do.

Barry opens the door, and Joe takes a seat on the edge of his bed. "Something wrong, Son?" They've done this enough times over the years that they both know it won't take more than that to get Barry to crack.

"I—smoked a cigarette this week." Barry looks at his hands and the floor and the picture of a spaceship on his will—anywhere except at Joe.

"Why?" The cop doesn't sound furious, at least.

"Somebody dared me." It sounds just as stupid when he tells Joe as it did when he told Iris.

Barry feels a big, warm hand on his shoulder. "Barry, this is one of those times when you have to decide what kind of man you're going to be."

"I know," he answers, head down. "I'm not going to be a guy who smokes."

"Not what I meant," Joe answers. "It's a lot bigger than that. It's about deciding if you're the kind of man who lets other people push him into doing things he knows are wrong so he can impress them, or the kind of man who knows who he is and doesn't have to do stupid things to prove it."

Barry looks over at Joe, feeling small. "I guess I'm not that kind of man."

In return, the hand on his shoulder slides around him and pulls him closer. "We're all works in progress. It's not about where we already are; it's about the direction we're headed."

"I just want Iris to be proud of me." He lets the words slip out before he can pull them back.

Joe gives him a long look that's hard to read. "If that's where you're trying to go, you're not that far from getting there."

"How long am I grounded for?" Barry braces himself for the bottom line.

Joe thinks for a second. "One cigarette, plus your honesty—I'd say this weekend should do it." He gets up to go, then turns around. "Barry, I hope this is the last time I ever have to ground you."

Barry watches him leave and takes his last words as a challenge. He's growing up, and it's time to become the kind of man who doesn't need somebody else to make him do the right thing. It's time to make Iris West and her father proud to have him in their lives.

\---

"You don't look as amped up as I'd expected," Joe says, when he finally makes it home after the showdown between the Reverse Flash and the heroes. Barry is sitting on the couch in a t-shirt and pajama pants, looking no more super than any college kid who needs a good night's sleep.

"I'm just disappointed in myself," he admits.

Joe raises an eyebrow. "Seems like you did a pretty good job out there. I'm not sure what you have to feel bad about." He'd planned to take the easy chair, but he sits down next to the kid instead.

Barry faces him and smiles sheepishly. "You remember that one time I smoked in high school?"

"Yep," Joe answers. "You almost gave me a heart attack. I thought you were hiding something serious, like getting a girl pregnant or something, and it turns out you'd had one cigarette. I laughed about it for an hour—not that I showed you that part."

The kid's face is serious now. "I was thinking about what you said back then, about being the kind of man who knows who he is and doesn't need to impress people."

"Uh huh." The cop can't remember a thing he said in a conversation from nine years ago, but he goes with it.

"Joe, I did it again. I messed up and tried to be like somebody I'm not. You said it yourself—I'm not that kind of hero; I'm not Oliver Queen, and I don't want to be."

Joe shakes his head. "You know, you could find something to beat yourself up about on the most perfect day of your life. You just caught the Reverse Flash, Barry. Give yourself a break."

Barry looks away, and Joe ponders the timing of giving him a hug; that's what he usually needs at these moments.

"I really love Iris."

It seems like a non-sequitur, but the cop has known for a long time that Barry Allen's brain doesn't necessarily work in the most predictable way, so he waits and listens. In a few seconds, the kid looks back at him. "I just want to be the kind of guy Iris deserves and the kind of guy you'd want for a son-in-law."

"When it comes to that," Joe answers, "you don't have anywhere to go, Son. You're already there."


	36. The Letting Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don't ever tell you about the letting go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is my loveletter to Season 1 of The Flash, one of the best-written and best-acted superhero series of all time. Paradoxically, what makes it such a great series isn't that it has great superheroes (though it does) or awesome special effects (though they are). What made The Flash Season 1 so beautiful was its heart.

Letting Go

Love isn't a feeling. It's not a Valentine's Card or a ring or a physical act. Love is an action. 

Iris has loved Barry Allen since they met in Kindergarten and found out they were in the advanced reading group together. She loved him like a friend when he invited her over to taste his mom's brownies and when he held her hand so she didn't cry when the school nurse gave her a shot. 

Iris has loved Barry Allen since he moved into her house, with his pain and his suitcase and his effervescent, fragile joy. She loved him like a brother when they walked to school together and applied for their first jobs together and talked about their crushes to each other.

Iris has loved Barry Allen since he came home from college and moved out, only to move back to the place he really belonged. She loved him when he wore a mask and when he didn't, when he saved her and needed to be saved by her. She did not put a name on this love, but it was more than the love of a sister, so much more that when he kissed her, she felt like she was drowning in it. 

But love and selfishness are opposites. You cannot really love someone unless you're willing to let him do the one thing that will bring him peace.

Iris kisses Barry's forehead before he goes, and it is the most passionately loving thing she has ever done, because real love is selflessness, and sometimes it's about letting go.

\---

They say you don't know what you've got until it's gone.

You don't know that the angry days, the grief-filled days, the frightened days were actually beautiful days because they created bonds between a kid and a girl and a cop that are stronger than steel.

You don't realize that having two fathers isn't a mistake; it's a luxury, even if one of them is behind plexiglass. 

You can't see that your biggest loss has been your biggest gain--of family, friendship, love.

Maybe, sometimes, as you grow up, you start to see it, just a little bit, but it's not until you see the tears in your surrogate father's eyes and feel the warmth of your best friend's lips on your forehead that you really understand. 

Fixing the past isn't a simple thing. Sometimes it means letting go of the most precious things there are.

\---

They don't tell you how it feels to take a kid in. Maybe they try, but you don't get it. You don't realize that pretty soon, your feelings for that kid will be indistinguishable from your feelings for the one who shares your blood. 

They don't tell you that every time you see him cry, your heart will break, even when he's eighteen, twenty-one, twenty-five; it doesn't matter. 

They don't tell you that you will worry yourself sick every time he puts on that red suit and that when you don't know where he is for several hours, you will imagine the worst.

They don't tell you that when it comes time to say goodbye, it will feel like the universe is ripping out a part of your heart.

They don't ever tell you about the letting go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who else is excited about Season 2's premiere?!?! I'll see you on the other side!


	37. Mac and Cheese

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe’s authority has always been like that—light when he expects heavy and gentle when he expects unyielding. For the first time, Barry rushes into the strong, safe arms that will become his lifeline.

Mac and Cheese

“Barry, you know I’m glad you came here, right?” Iris is sitting on the floor of her disorganized bedroom opposite her surrogate brother, with their English notes in front of them on the floor. Barry shrugs. He shrugs a lot these days, and Iris doesn’t know what to do. It’s been half a year since he came to the West house, and things are still so tense it’s almost unbearable.

The eleven-year-old girl takes a deep breath. “What I mean is, I love you, Barry. You’re my best friend, and I’m glad you’re staying with us permanently.” She’s always been direct; it’s a trait she will carry with her for the rest of her life. 

Barry shuts his grammar book with a loud snap. He doesn’t say anything; he never takes his anger out on Iris, but he gets up and takes his notes and goes into his own room, shutting the door quickly. She’s pretty sure the only reason he doesn’t slam it is that Joe has a rule against that. 

Iris slides onto the floor and lies there, stares up at the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling. It’s weird how much you can love someone, even when they don’t give anything back. That’s something Barry has taught her without meaning to. Her love for Joe has always come from his love for her; her love for Barry started as a choice, but now it’s as automatic as breathing, even though he’s so closed into himself he won’t let her in.

She loves the Barry for the things he was before the incident and for the things she hopes he’ll be again. More than that, she loves the person he is now—the book-slamming ball of anger who yells at her father and runs away nearly every day. She loves him because he needs it.

Later that night, after macaroni and cheese, Barry knocks on her door. “Iris?” 

“Come in.”

He stands awkwardly in her doorway. “I—love you too.” The words run together, but they’re unmistakable. He’s gone before she can respond, but she goes to sleep with a smile on her face.

—

There are few things in his life that Barry Allen can control. He can’t get his father out of jail or bring his mother back to life, and when he yells at Joe, he feels guilty. But eating is something they can’t make him do. Joe hasn’t made a big issue of it, but he figures it’s only a matter of time.

“You gotta eat, Son.”

He expects another fight. The cop will finally come down on him and try to force a bowl of macaroni and cheese down his throat. He loves macaroni and cheese; it’s just the principal of the thing. 

But Joe West isn’t as predictable as Barry Allen expects. He doesn’t get mad, and he doesn’t yell. He says he gets it, and when Barry is about to yell back that there’s no way Joe could ever understand, he makes it dead obvious that he does understand.

“That is why I’m here.”

Barry hasn’t thought of it like that. It’s always been about him being at the Wests’, like an unwanted parasite. He’s never considered that it might be true that Joe wants to be there for him just as much as he needs somewhere to belong. 

Joe’s hand, resting lightly on top of his, makes the dam break. 

Joe’s authority has always been like that—light when he expects heavy and gentle when he expects unyielding. For the first time, Barry rushes into the strong, safe arms that will become his lifeline. 

—

“Macaroni and cheese,” Joe says, putting a bowl in front of his hungry housemate. “It’s not fancy, but Iris says it’s still your favorite.”

Barry laughs. “Thanks, Joe.”

The cop has a moment of deja vu as he sits down at the table with his own bowl of pasta. “Son, you remember the first time you ever ate mac and cheese at this house?”

“Yup,” says Barry, between mouthfuls. “I was pretty impossible. Sometimes I wonder why you put up with me.”

Joe sits back in his chair. “Is that what you think? Truth is, I had a hurting kid in my house, and all he wanted to do was run away from me. I was trying to find a way to get through to you, Bear, but in the end, you came to me yourself. You got up, and I thought you were about to run away again, but you ran toward me instead. One of the best nights of my life.”

Barry smiles, but his eyes are wet. “That’s when I realized it was better to run to you than toward the past. Glad I made the right decision.” 

“Are you two having some kind of a moment?” Joe looks up as Iris comes in the front door and stands in front of them, staring at their teary eyes and half-eaten dinners.

Her father laughs. “There’s more mac and cheese in the kitchen.” She stops to plant a kiss on his cheek and to give Barry a hug from behind. 

“We’ve always got you, Bear,” Joe says, “and we always will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How great was the season opener?! I don't really care for how the Henry Allen plot was handled, but otherwise, A+ for the writing and acting. A classic Flash combination of action and touching moments that set the stage for an awesome rest of the season.


	38. Father's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know this is a tough day, and I'm sorry you can't spend it with your dad. I want you to know something, though. I may not be him, but I'm trying to be the best stand-in I can."

Father’s Day

“Iris, your dad isn’t my dad.”

The little girl feels hurt by the words, but she tries to smile. “I know he’s not your biological dad, but I thought you might want to at least sign the card.” She’s adding glitter to a handmade Father’s Day card, putting all of her eleven-year-old skill into it. 

Barry shakes his head, and the pained look on his face tells her not to push the issue.

—

Iris comes to visit Barry in his lab. They haven’t had time to talk since Henry’s release, and she knows he’ll need her. Her reward is the grin that fills his face as soon as he looks up from his desk and sees her in the doorway.

Barry hurries over, and she wraps him in a tight hug. “You ok, Bear?”

He nods, obviously understanding why she’s come. “Sure. I mean, this isn’t how I expected things to go, but I want my dad to—be happy, to get to do all the things he’s missed. I just thought he’d stick around a little longer.” 

“Well, Barry,” she says, teasing, “it wouldn’t take you very long to get to him, wherever he goes. Somebody told me you’re pretty fast once you get going.” To her relief, he laughs.

“Plus,” she adds after a second, “I think he knows you’ve got a dad here.”

Barry nods. “I’m lucky that way.” After a second, Iris realizes he’s still holding her. It feels too good for her to pull away. 

—--

Barry stays in his room while Iris and Joe celebrate Father’s Day. He’s been with the Wests a few months, but it feels wrong to be part of this day, of all days—wrong for them and wrong for his dad, the dad he won’t see again for another three weeks. He wrote a letter, but it’s not the same. 

What he doesn’t expect is a tap on his door in the early evening, long before bedtime. Joe comes in and finds him sitting on his bed, trying to read. Instead of sitting next to him, the cop squats down on the floor in front of him."Barry," he says softly, putting a hand on the little boy's knee, "I know this is a tough day, and I'm sorry you can't spend it with your dad. I want you to know something, though. I may not be him, but I'm trying to be the best stand-in I can."

He leaves the room, and Barry feels lighter. He doesn't know why, but the day doesn't end as horribly as he expected.

—

“What’s going on, Bear?” Joe looks beyond tired.

“I figured if you’re going to work this late, you needed some coffee,” Barry answers, presenting a Jitters cup.

The cop looks at his watch and runs a hand over his face. “Didn’t realize it was so late. The paperwork the state is requiring to make the Metahuman Task Force legit is unbelievable.” He looks up. “Why are you here, Son? It’s Friday night.”

“I was thinking about my father,” Barry admits readily. “I miss him, so I decided to see what the one who’s still here is up to.” 

“You know Henry leaving has nothing to do with how he feels about you, right?” Barry takes the seat Joe offers across his desk.

“I know,” Barry nods.

“It’s all right to be sad or mad or whatever about it, though. Sometimes there’s no perfect answer to a situation, especially not one like this.”

Barry smiles. “You’ve been telling me it’s ok to feel things for a long time, Joe.”

“Fourteen years, by my count,” the cop answers. “And I’m going to keep telling you when you need to hear it. It’s a dad thing.” 

Joe finally takes a swig of the coffee. “Jamaican Blue Mountain, one cream, two sugars,” he says ecstatically, closing his eyes and savoring the flavor. “I really did raise you right.”

—--

There are two cards next to Joe’s plate at breakfast on Father’s Day. It’s been three years since Barry has lived with the Wests, and the cop has long since given up on the kid ever calling him dad or accepting him that way. 

But there are two cards. One of them is large and bright green and contains a poem Iris wrote for her English class, all about him. He reads it a few times and then tucks it away to read again later and stick on his bedroom mirror so he can see it every morning when he wakes up. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve Iris.

The other card is much smaller. It’s a plain white, double-folded notecard that just says “Thanks” on the front. On the inside, in blue pen, it reads, “Joe, I know I’m not a very good son, but you’re a great dad. Happy Father’s Day.”

Joe finds both his kids hiding behind the kitchen doorway, peeking out to see his reaction to their cards and the Jitters giftcard they pooled their allowance to buy for him. He takes Iris in his arms and swings her around. “Dad!” she remonstrates. She’s fourteen now, going on about thirty-two, but her dad plans to do that until she’s fifty. 

Barry is hanging back in the corner, a little shy. Joe whispers to Iris to give them a minute, and she traipses back to her room, saying she’s going to fix her lip gloss (the lip gloss Joe reckons she’s too young to wear). 

“Thanks for the card,” Joe says. “Means a lot.” He doesn’t try to touch Barry or get any closer. “But you’re wrong, Bear. Far as I’m concerned, you’re the best son in the world.” The kid who looks back at him stands a little taller when he hears those words. 

—

Just because Joe gets it doesn’t mean he has to like it. He understand why Henry Allen left, but things and people who hurt Barry are usually his mortal enemies, and he finds it hard not to be angry. He shuffles through his stacks of papers, wondering how his surrogate son on the other side of his desk is really doing.

Barry finishes filling out a form and hands it over. “Here, ready for you to sign.”

“Thanks, Bear,” he says. “This will go a lot faster with your help.”

“Glad to help,” Barry answers, leaning back in his chair and grinning. “It’s a son thing.”

The light is back in the kid’s eyes. Doesn’t mean everything is fixed, but Joe figures it’s enough for now.


	39. Strength and Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iris and Barry deal with issues that hold them both back.

Strength and Trust

Iris feels fractured. Six months is not long enough yet. It's not long enough to forget the way Eddie smiled every time he came into Jitters and laid eyes on her. It's not far enough away to stop feeling the sharp agony rip through her every time she forgets, for a second, that he's not coming home.

Sometimes she feels like sorrow is her lot in life, her place to wait and hope and, finally, give up. A mother long gone, months of Barry's coma, Eddie's sacrifice. She bears the weight of things without complaining, because everyone needs her to be strong.

Much of her childhood was spent listening to Joe tell Barry it was all right to feel, to hurt, to be afraid. It made sense, after all. He was the one with the trauma of murder in his mind. But, she admits to herself sometimes, when she can't sleep, that she wishes her father had said the same things to her more often than he did.

—

Iris is working late, trying to finish an expose of corruption at Central City Hall. She's alone in the building, falling asleep at her desk, when she hears a heavy footfall behind her. She turns quickly, grabbing the mace she keeps in her pocket; she's learned to be vigilant.

"Hi, Baby, I thought you might need a pick-me-up." Joe sets a cup of coffee on her desk—not from Jitters; it's been closed for hours—from the 24-hour convenience store down the street.

She rushes up and into his arms, and to her own surprise and his, she starts crying. These days, the tears come when she doesn't expect or want them, at inconvenient moments.

"Oh, Iris," says her father, holding her and patting her back like he did she she was five years old.

"I'm sorry, Dad," she whispers. "I know I shouldn't be like this any more."

Her father pushes her to arm's length. "Listen to me, Iris West. You're the strongest person I know, but even strong people have to grieve. It's ok to need me, to need Barry, to still feel pain. It just means your love was real. I know you don't feel it right now, but some day, that will be the part you still feel—the beautiful part."

She buries her face in his shoulder, smelling his cologne, letting herself feel like a little girl. "Dad, thanks for taking Barry in."

"Why are you thanking me for that now?"

She smiles in the middle of her tears. "I couldn't make it without either one of you. You're the ones I love the most." Joe doesn't answer, but Iris feels a kiss on her temple.

\------------------------------------

Barry doesn't trust easily. He remembers how it felt not to trust Joe or Iris, to feel like he would never be able to love or let himself be loved again. And he remembers the bliss, after months of angry standoffs, when he finally gave into the warmth of having a surrogate father and a best friend.

Then came Harrison Wells, the man who was supposed to be his savior, the one who could understand his power and help him use it. Except Harrison wells wasn't Wells at all—he was a murderer and an enemy and a betrayer.

When Jay Garrick comes into Earth 1, with all of his strength and earnestness, all Barry sees is another potential disappointment and danger. He doesn't want another friend or associate or father figure.

Except, when it comes down to it, he needs Jay, and Jay comes through. That's the thing about trust: It's built by what's done, not what's said.

Barry Allen doesn't want another friend; he doesn't need another associate; he's got enough father figures. But Jay Garrick is something else entirely—something like a brother.

\------------------------------------

Joe drives home from Iris's office, thinking about his two kids—the one who can't be weak and the one who can't trust. He feels guilty, a bit. He's tried to accept that no parent is perfect, but he knows their issues are partly his responsibility.

Responsibility. They say you let kids go, that past a certain age, they're adults who live their own lives, and you stop having to take care of them. Maybe it's true in one sense, but he knows it's the biggest lie in the world in another.

Iris and Barry will always be in his heart and his mind, the place his thoughts drift a million times a day. And Patty, that kid with the bright eyes who won't stop pestering him—he just might have room for her, too. She seems awfully alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like a broken record, but I apologize again for the delay in updating. Long story short, I've actually had two surgeries since I posted the last chapter. I'll be caught up by the time the hiatus is finished, so maybe these new chapters will help it pass more quickly.


	40. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iris and Barry face potentially life-changing decisions.

Decisions

My mother is alive.

She says the words over and over in her mind, trying to make them feel real. She doesn't quite know what she feels, but she's not angry, not at her dad, anyway. Surprised, curious, trying hard to remember back when she was a little girl with an addict for a mom, but she can't. The happy, gold-tinged years with Barry and Joe have drawn a veil over the sadness.

She seeks Barry out. He's the one who is both connected and not connected, who can understand but doesn't feel the feelings that paralyze her.

"Hi," she says. He looks up from his desk in his lab at the precinct and smiles at her, but his expression quickly turns to one of concern.

"Are you ok?"

"I'm not really sure."

"I—," he hesitates. "I'm not trying to make this about me, but I want to tell you about something that I haven't really talked about." Iris sits down in front of him, resting her elbows on his desk, wondering what he means since he usually tells her everything.

He continues, "When I went back to—my mom's death, I was so happy and so sad at the same time. It was like getting her back, but it was also like losing her all over again. I watched her die, and I felt more love than I've ever felt in my whole life. Your situation is the opposite, but I know what it's like to feel conflicting things at the same time, to want something but also dread it more than anything."

Iris feels her eyes fill with tears. "Thanks, Barry." He reaches over and puts his hand on top of hers, and she feels its warmth course through her entire body.

\--

Patty Spivot is like a little blond tornado. She's pretty and smart and perky and all the things Barry feels like he's not.

And she—likes him.

It's strange. He hasn't felt that kind of energy in a very long time. When he talks to her, he feels lighter, like a better and happier version of himself. It's not a deep feeling, but it's a good one.

He watches her; she's kind. He listens to her; she's clever. He watches Joe's respect for her grow stronger.

He doesn't know what to think, exactly, but he's beginning to like the cop who can't keep her eyes off him. It's a very, very good feeling.

\--

Joe is torn—between the happiness that fills him when he sees the awkward flirtation between his partner and his surrogate son, and his constant worry about Iris and Francine.

He can't believe Iris has forgiven him so quickly. He knows her well; she's his girl; she has his genes. But she still surprises him sometimes. Her understanding is far beyond her years, far beyond what his own was at her age.

He knows, finally, that he can't protect his kids from everything. Barry will have to decide if he wants to go for it; it's Iris's decision what she does with Francine. Strangely and unexpectedly, realizing this takes a weight of Joe West's mind.


	41. Limbo

Limbo

Iris has her own secret. Finally, she understands what it's like to hold onto something until it feels like it's going to burst out of you, but to know that you can't tell anyone because the revelation would be too painful. Finally, she understands her father and Barry and Eddie—the men who kept The Flash's identity from her.

How can my dad ever handle this? She asks herself over and over

The thing is, Iris knows how Joe would treat a son, because she's seen him do it. She's seen how patient he was with Barry's anger, how hard he worked to be at every one of his science fairs, how carefully he taught him to respect women and be proud of his worth as a man.

She can't tell him, but she knows, eventually, she'll have to. She's never been much good at lying to Joe anyway, and it will kill her inside if she has to live with knowing she's taken the choice of what to do away from him.

She's always hated secrets. When Barry first came to live with the Wests, he'd asked her to lie for him, to tell Joe he was upstairs or at a friends' house when he was really running back to the house he still considered home. Those were the ugly days, the days when he didn't totally trust her and didn't trust her dad at all. She'd agreed the first couple of times, but she'd always backed down under Joe's gaze. Now she feels the same sick feeling in her stomach, the same need to get the truth out of herself.

"Barry, I need a hug." Her best friend is in his lab, finishing up case notes. He looks up and smiles, then comes over in an instant and wraps his arms around her.

"Is this about your mom? Eddie?"

"It's about a lot of things," she says softly. "Just—thank you for being here."

"Any time," he answers.

\---

It's Joe whole tells him to go after Patty. Ironic, considering that he'd been the one to tell Barry to pursue Iris. But things are different now. Eddie is gone, and it's a wound that takes more than a little while to process. Holding Iris close, comforting her, feels as wonderful as ever, but he has come to expect nothing more.

He listens to his surrogate father; he always listens.

And he's saved by a man who looks just like another surrogate father, the one who betrayed him in the ugliest way possible. He does not understand how someone wearing the face of Harrison Wells can, once more, be his life-saving benefactor. The sight of that face brings back intense memories of hatred and anger that Barry hasn't yet released.

He doesn't like being angry. He's no Batman. But how can you stop being angry with the man who killed your mother without it being a betrayal of her?

\---

Joe has become a different man since a particle accelerator gave Barry Allen superpowers. Oh, he hasn't ceased being worried or caring or paternal. But he's been humbled, and he's less sure of what he knows about the world. Few things are off limits to his imagination any more. He's open.

That's why, when he sees the connection between his surrogate son and his partner, he encourages it. He still believes, deep down, that there's a future for Barry and Iris, but he's no longer dogmatically unwilling to consider other options.

He just wants his kids to be happy. That's all. Maybe, really, he's not such a different man after all.


	42. What the Future Holds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iris West doesn't know what the future holds, but the future definitely knows her.

What the Future Holds

"Barry deserves to be happy," Iris says to herself, chewing on a fingernail. Her concerns about her father and, somewhere, her brother, are momentarily subsumed by her thoughts about Barry and the woman who so obviously likes him that it's painful.

She's come to a conclusion now; she just wants the best for Barry. That's what love is, her father has always said; it's wanting the best for someone else, not trying to force them to be exactly what you'd like. It's not like Barry belongs to her—not in that way anyhow. So she helps him text, and she tries to fix his date, and she encourages him the way she always has. The way a sister would.

But when she goes home, alone, and looks at her Facebook wall, there's no Eddie Thawne, and she sees a selfie of a grinning cop and a tall, thin scientist. It's not disgusting; it's absolutely adorable, perfectly adorable.

Iris gets out a photo album filled with pictures of her life with a kind, blond-haired man who would have loved her for a lifetime. Who did, she realizes, love her for the short lifetime he had. She doesn't know the future, and she has given up trying to control or predict it, but no matter what happens, nothing will ever erase the sweetness of Eddie's memory, the way he laughed and the way he loved to hold her hand and the way he didn't think twice about risking his life for anyone, whether he knew them or not.

And yet, the future doesn't feel bleak ahead of her. She closes the book the way one chapter of her life is closed, but the ending of one means the beginning of another. She doesn't see a red streak flash by her window once and then once again, and if she had, she wouldn't know what it means that The Flash is there, just there, right at that moment.

He's not in his mid-twenties any more. He's 43, and he has a little bit of gray at his temples. Iris doesn't know what happens once he's gone, either, that he runs so fast he goes home to a time almost twenty years in the future.

"Told you I could do it without you noticing. You didn't see a thing." Barry Allen is grinning his head off as he removes his mask.

"How did I look?" asks his wife, rolling her eyes but not really meaning it.

Barry crosses the room and cuddles her from behind, whispering, "Almost as beautiful as now."

Iris West doesn't know what the future holds, but the future definitely knows her.

\--

Kissing Patty is everything Barry had hoped it would be. Maybe it's not rockets shooting out of the sky, but it's definitely static electricity.

It's been ages since he's thought about the future, at least, this kind of future. He knows, now, that time can be changed. Maybe it should be changed. Maybe what has already happened has changed a byline that says "Iris West-Allen." Of all people, he knows you can't live for something that isn't guaranteed. You have to take what the moment offers.

Across town, but twenty years in the future, Barry Allen holds a woman on his knee. She doesn't have blond hair, and she isn't pale. She's warm and soft and comforting, the safe place he knows is home.

"I can't believe you went to the past just to look at me. What if you'd changed something?"

"I didn't," he answers. "But who said I just looked at you? I went by the precinct and checked out Patty Spivot," he teases, finding himself rewarded by his wife's elbow grinding into his ribcage.

"You'll pay for that.

"Really, how?" He grins.

The future is a funny thing. Some of it can be changed, but some of it's just destiny.

—

Joe West hasn't had a night home alone in a while. His kids are both busy, and he doesn't have any extra work. He doesn't mind. He flicks on the TV, doesn't find anything good, and picks up a John Grisham novel.

The Firm. He's read it before, but he still likes it.

He knows he'll be alone more as time goes on, but it's all right. It means his children are growing up, moving on, forming worlds of their own, just as it should be.

Twenty years in the future, in the same house, Joe West is babysitting twins, the most beautiful baby girl and baby boy he's ever seen. He doesn't get many nights alone these days, but he doesn't mind. It's nice to have grandchildren, nicer than he'd even imagined.

Sometimes, the future has a funny way of being exactly what you hope.


	43. Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes happiness isn't something that comes all at once. When you've grieved and hurt and felt confusion, happiness returns little by little, in moments when something unexpected makes you see the beauty in the world again.

Happiness

Iris feels a little bit alone.

It's not that anyone means it, but now that she's part of the team, somehow, she feels more outside it than ever. Cisco and Caitlin are scientists, Barry is The Flash, her father takes care of everyone, and even Garrick and Wells have defined roles. But she's just Iris, just a friend and a writer. She knows she's not stupid, but it's tough not to feel like she's still trying to prove herself. At least she can talk to Linda Park, but the high quickly wears off, and she walks home very late, wishing she had somewhere else to go.

The funny thing is, even when everything you know about the world changes, eventually you settle back into a routine. You go to work, and you go to the lab, and you go home and eat a frozen meal while watching Pride and Prejudice for the millionth time.

Only, something is different this time. She opens the door of her apartment and finds a vase on the table, a vase filled with the purple flowers that share her name. They've been her favorite since childhood.

These are no flowers from a florist. They're wild, the kind that grow on the abandoned lots in Central City. Somebody picked them, one by one, just for her. Only two people have keys to her apartment: Her father and Barry. She finds a card underneath the vase and opens it.

Iris,

I haven't seen you smile much lately. I hope these help a little bit.

Love, Barry

Iris can't help smiling, a smile that shares her face with the tears that spring to her eyes. She has no idea when Barry had time to pick irises, between his work and his pursuit of Zoom and his sweet girlfriend, but she adds water to the flowers and puts them on her coffee table, no longer feeling alone and neglected.

Sometimes happiness isn't something that comes all at once. When you've grieved and hurt and felt confusion, happiness returns little by little, in moments when something unexpected makes you see the beauty in the world again.

\--

It's a strange thing to be scared of happiness, or, rather, scared of trying to grasp it and falling short.

The whole thing started when a little boy watched the murder of his mother, no secret about that. At first, afterward, Barry had felt guilty when he'd noticed that happiness was creeping up on him—when he kicked a soccer ball around with Iris or felt the warmth of Joe's approval or aced a test. Feeling good had seemed like a betrayal of the mother he'd lost.

Then, when he'd gotten older, he'd realized that embracing happiness was a way to honor his mother, to keep Nora Allen's smile alive in his own smile. And it hadn't been too hard for him to find in the city he loved, surrounded by the people he loved.

But it's not so simple any more. Now he has a title and a suit and a body that means responsibility he'd never imagined. That's why the words of the first Harrison Wells terrify him so much, the assurance that he'll never truly be happy again. Maybe it's easier not to try at all than to open himself up and be broken inside.

As always, it's Joe West, with his kindness and his common sense, who says exactly what needs to be said. Happiness isn't some elusive, abstract concept. It's there for the taking, if you let yourself figure out what you want and run straight toward it, obstacles or not.

So he takes a step, and he pulls a woman close, and he gives away happiness, getting it back a hundred times more in return when she holds him close and returns his affection. It's simple, maybe, but it's also brave.

\--

Joe West looks down at his right hand.

It's a calloused, experienced hand that can fire a gun in hundredths of a second, repair a TV set, or cook a souffle. It's the hand that signed divorce papers when his wife couldn't be found, the hand that styled his little girl's hair every morning because there was no one else to do it.

Today, that hand cupped Barry Allen's cheek for a split second. Barry may be in his mid-twenties, but he's still a kid who needs encouragement and comfort and to be touched in a healthy way.

It's those tiny moments, moments of using his hand to hold his kids when they were little, soothe their nightmares away, and pat them on the back for jobs well done that are his favorite moments.

When it comes down to it, his hand is a father's hand, and that's what makes him happier than anything else.


	44. Knowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Barry and his team need is someone exactly like her, someone who knows the people things.

Knowing

Iris doesn't know how to build advanced weapons or assess alien life forms. She has no idea how to track criminals or build clues to a case. Most of the Star Labs equipment makes no sense to her. What she does know is how to read people, quickly and deeply and sharply, like a knife that cuts through the facade of what they try to project and exposes who they really are and what they really need.

She's about to call Henry Allen when she realizes her place on the team. She's not a detective or a scientist, but other things are just as important. The sight of Barry in his father's arms lets her know for sure—she'd seen what he needed most, she'd made it happen, and her surrogate brother isn't the only one whose deeper motivations she's able to discern.

When she looks at Cisco, she sees his overeagerness to please, the damage of a life with demanding parents, half-healed by the acceptance of colleagues he loves even more than family. Caitlin is harder to read, but Iris sees her grief, patiently borne so that no one else will be bothered by her pain. The Harrison Wells of Earth-2 may be a hard man to like, but Iris doesn't judge him. She feels the presence of something else beneath the surface, a desperation he doesn't reveal. Garrick isn't hard to read at all. He's a good man—nothing more than that; nothing less than that. She can't wait for the day he finally realizes what she already knows—that he spends about half of his time on Earth-1 doing nothing but looking at a pale doctor with a beautiful smile.

What Iris finally comes to know is that Star Labs doesn't need another scientist or cop. She would be irrelevant if she could build a particle accelerator or solve a murder. What Barry and his team need is someone exactly like her, someone who knows the people things.

\---

Barry doesn't know how to feel confident again. He doesn't know how to stop seeing the image of his weak and broken body playing over and over in his mind, the vision a city now has of its one hero.

Joe is kind, Iris is encouraging, Caitlin and Cisco are as faithful and solid as any friends you could ever hope to have. But none of it works, none of it exorcises the demon of self-doubt that stays inside him, even when his body has finished healing. He can't figure out what he needs; it's too complicated.

Except, it's not really complicated at all. What Barry does know is that the moment he sees the confidence in his father's eyes, hears the voice that has anchored him all his life, melts into the arms he wasn't able to reach for fourteen years, the darkness inside him shifts to light.

What he realizes, when it's all over, is that you don't always have to know everything on your own. Sometimes it's braver to let other people know you, and through them, to learn about yourself.

\---

Joe doesn't know how his world has changed so much in such a short time. When he looks into the past, he sees a comfortable, routine life, with kids he loved and a city with mostly-homegrown crime. Now the streets crawl with metahumans and sentient animals and scientists who want to play god. The Central City he used to know is gone, the whole idea of it obliterated in his mind by the reality of the threats his surrogate son faces every single day.

But what Joe does know is who he is. His integrity is the thing he's held onto, tight-fisted, through the loss of a wife and the storm of raising a troubled son, through the months of Barry's coma and Iris's indecision about her life path, and finally into this strange, uncertain future with its own set of rules he can't yet fully grasp.

He's an honest man, and he's a loving man, and he's kind. Nobody's perfect, and he'd never claim to be, but he sleeps soundly in the middle of a city on fire because he knows what he stands for.

Barry comes home late after a talk with Patty—a hard one, Joe knows, because his partner is too perceptive not to realize that Barry hasn't been completely open with her. "Hey," he says, patting the sofa next to him, hoping the kid won't disappear into his room without a conversation.

"Hey." Barry is uncharacteristically quiet as he takes up the other end of the couch.

"You ok, Son?"

"Yeah, I told Patty I was avoiding her because of my dad. Not totally a lie, I guess. I just—it's not even that, Joe. I don't know how to be what she needs. She's so—capable and strong on her own."

Joe puts a hand on his son's knee. "Barry, I know you can't tell her everything right now, but what she needs is just the real you, the real, authentic Barry Allen. That's all any of us can give somebody. You can't give something you don't have, but when you give her the person you really are, that will be enough."

Barry looks serious for a second and then smiles. "Thanks, Joe. I knew you'd know."


	45. Becoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heroism isn't something that's gained all at once. Barry's come to appreciate the fact that every person in his life is teaching him a little bit more about it every day.

Becoming

Iris is crumpled over a gravestone, her tears falling on the bouquet of flowers she's just placed in front of it. It's a good day, not a bad one. Everyone's safe. Even Harrison Wells, saved by the man who hates him, taking the serum he hates.

Jay Garrick is nothing like Eddie Thawne was, except in one way: Eddie is the only other man she's ever known who would have done the same thing, even if it meant violating his beliefs that strongly to save someone he despised. Barry is growing into being that kind of hero; Eddie had no powers, but that's the kind of hero he already was.

"I love you," she whispers. "I still do."

\---

Barry feels like he's lived years since the last time he saw Oliver Queen, even though it's only been a few months. In many ways, he's come into his own, but when he sees the Green Arrow with his team and the love of his life, he sees how much he still needs to learn.

Even when he saves Oliver from a disastrous miscalculation, he doesn't feel superior. They're like brothers now, the younger and the older. He still feels like the one playing catch-up, but it's not a bad feeling any more. It's comfortable.

Barry is learning to be a hero, and he's come to be all right with his progress. Ever since childhood, he's tried to be perfect immediately, to learn whatever he needs to learn and never fail or make a mistake. Becoming The Flash has taught him that mistakes don't have to be crushing disappointments; sometimes they're steppingstones to something amazing.

Heroism isn't something that's gained all at once. Barry's come to appreciate the fact that every person in his life is teaching him a little bit more about it every day.

\---

Joe remembers the first time he ever taught Barry Allen how to do something. It was a simple thing, how to tie a fisherman's knot. His teacher had taught the class, but Barry hadn't understood her directions.

He remembers how frustrated his surrogate son had been, how disproportionate his distress had seemed compared to the relative insignificance of the task. But it hadn't been about tying knots. It had been about Barry Allen's need to do everything right.

Finally, when Barry had been near tears, Joe had put his hands overtop of the little boy's. "Son, just let me do the work. Feel the way I do it." That had worked. Twice, and Barry had been able to do it all by himself.

It's a good memory, a warm memory. Barry had given him a hug; it was one of the first ones he'd initiated. "Thanks, Joe."

He'd turned to go outside and join Iris for a game of catch, but Joe had stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Barry, it's ok to take time to learn something. The important thing is that you keep trying, not that you do it perfectly the first time. Barry had nodded, and it was advice he'd taken to heart.

It's advice he's still taking to heart as he slips further and further into his role as the hero of Central City. Joe isn't proud because Barry is perfect; he's proud because he never stops trying to get better.


	46. Weighty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But forgiveness feels like flying.

Weighty

"Come on, it hardly even hurts!" Sleepover, ten seventh-grade girls. A needle and some ice. It only took a few seconds, and Iris West had a pierced belly button.

The next morning, when her dad picked her up, she didn't say anything. She'd hadn't realized how horrible not telling him would feel. She rationalized that it wasn't a big deal. But it still felt weird. Her dad had always said piercings and tattoos would be fine—once she was older and had more "judgment," whatever that actually meant. It had seemed like a great idea at 3am.

"Are you all right, Baby?"

Her father's voice cut through her thoughts. "Sure, Dad, I'm just tired; we didn't sleep much." It's not like that wasn't true, even if it wasn't the whole truth.

When they got home, she didn't tell Barry. He was too terrible at keeping secrets, particularly from Joe. Besides, he thought it was dumb to change your body in a way you couldn't undo,, especially if you did it because somebody dared you. She didn't regret it, though. That was a lie, the one she told herself so she didn't have to feel stupid on top of feeling guilty.

It took two days until her dad figured out that something was up. He was a detective, and she was his little girl. She should have know he'd get it. "Iris," he said, taking her hand and gently pulling her to stand in front of him before she went to bed, "I know you're hiding something, and I don't know what it is. I just want you to know that when you're ready to tell me, I'll listen."

She wanted to say, "Everything's fine, Dad," but she couldn't. She started crying, and Joe took her on his knee and pulled the truth out of her a word at a time.

He didn't get mad. He just shook his head a little sadly and said, "I wish you'd waited until you were older, so you could be sure you wanted it. More than that, I wish you'd just told me, Baby. You know I'll never stop loving you, no matter what you do." After all, it wasn't so bad.

Thirteen years later, Iris West doesn't wear a belly button ring. She'd gotten tired of it by the time she was fifteen. But she has another secret, and it's one she has to tell her father, no matter what. Barry can't fix it for her, and she has to face the fact that it's going to change everything.

Joe West has a son. He's not angry at her when he hears the truth. He's just hurt, and that's far, far worse. But there's nothing she can do, no way she can minimize the damage Francine has caused. It's a pain they all have to bear, and looking at her father's tear-filled face is one of the most painful things she's ever done.

It was one thing for the little girl to be afraid of getting in trouble. It's much more agonizing to pass on the trouble to her father and watch him collapse under the weight of it.

\---

Anger is a heavy weight. It's been pressing Barry down every moment since the night of his mother's murder. Even when he's not actively thinking about it, it sits in the back of his mind, ready to pounce and poison, like a mental cancer.

But the killer doesn't deserve forgiveness, and when he finally puts a face to the Reverse Flash, he feels more rage than ever because he has a target for that rage. Wells's confession only deepens his fury.

No one questions his feelings or tries to talk him out of them. Joe has always said it's Barry's business to feel what he feels, but Henry says he's forgiven long ago, that it's how he survived prison all those years without losing his mind. Still, he doesn't try to force his epiphany on Barry.

Then, a day comes when the man who looks like the Reverse Flash—but so very much isn't—is standing behind a wall of plexiglass, and Barry sees him, not the Earth-2 version, but the one he'd loved like a father and then come to hate.

He feels the chains of unforgiveness that have bound him to Wells, tied him to a man who no longer even exists. It's not fair to be kept prisoner by the person who was in the wrong.

So he does the bravest thing. Forgiveness is harder than any fight The Flash has ever won, more painful than any agony he's ever felt, and more terrifying than any risk he's ever taken. It's like leaping without a parachute.

But forgiveness feels like flying. Like being free. Like the darkness in him has disintegrated into prismatic colored light. Like he can stand taller and straighter because he's not weighed down any more.

Barry Allen is a hero. The world will never know or understand it. Even his friends and his surrogate family would never be able to grasp the true magnitude of what he's done. He doesn't even see it in himself. But it's true, because forgiveness is the most heroic thing of all.

\---

Joe West has a son.

He can't breathe. He can't speak. He goes off on his own and paces his bedroom, letting the tears fall down his cheeks. He couldn't stop them if he wanted to.

In his mind he sees years of being Barry's dad, of tucking the little boy in and helping him fall asleep, of holding him when he cried, of helping the teenager pick out the right shirt for a date, of guiding the young man into the right path for him.

What would it have been like? Would his son have loved him the same way, smiled at him the way Barry does when he's grateful for something? Argued over curfews and girlfriends? He misses his child so much that it's like all the years he missed are piling on him all at one time and causing twenty years' worth of sadness all at one time.

"I wouldn't have been perfect, but I would have loved him," he thinks, over and over. He's never had any shortage of love. He could have kept all three of his children safe in his heart.

Even in the middle of his grief, Joe can't help thinking of the first son he knew, the one who still looks lost sometimes when he's thinking—Joe can tell—about his long-gone mother. Joe can't bear the idea that the kid he loves so very much will spend a moment feeling displaced or overlooked or replaced by the son who shares Joe's blood. So he makes a decision, and he passes on his favorite possession, the watch he'd always wanted to give to a son.

There will be time to meet his biological child, to work out the ache inside him and forge a new relationship. But he feels comforted when Barry's arms close around him, reminding him that he hasn't failed as a parent, even if he couldn't be there for one son. He's loved another one with every single fiber of his being, and that's all any parent can ever do.

He doesn't expect a knock on the door, and he doesn't expect a kid who looks exactly like a combination of himself and Francine. Love fills him instantly, so full he can hardly speak.

Wallace West. Wally West. That name sure has a ring to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the end of the first part of Season 2, and what a fantastic half-season it was. Looking forward to exploring the spring episodes with all of you.


	47. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a deep bravery to Iris's decision to stay and face the truth, to re-forge relationships past her grief and her anger at the secrets that were kept from her. Patty's bravery is of a different kind, the courage to do the thing she's always dreamed of doing, no matter how many risks she has to take.

The Truth

Iris forgives, but she doesn't forget. Forgiving is about letting go, letting herself, her father, and Barry free from the guilty weight of the secret that was kept from her for such a long time. It means she can hold and be held, love and be loved.

Not forgetting, though, means she can be wise. It's why she can look Barry in the eyes and tell him the truth—that he's got to do the hard thing and tell the woman he's beginning to love about who he is. Secrets are toxic; Iris couldn't forget even if she wanted to, but she's glad she never will.

Still, remembering brings up the pain, the sharp pinpricks of emotion she still feels when she thinks about all the lies, all the time spent wondering why everything seemed wrong without a cause. There's no more anger, but it still hurts.

Normally, Iris would talk it out with Barry, but she doesn't want to add the weight of her feelings to his complicated situation. Instead, she finds Joe. He's trying to forge a relationship with Wally, but that doesn't mean he's forgotten her. She comes to the precinct and goes straight to her father's office.

"Baby?" Joe is standing at the coffee maker. He looks tired from late nights and the draining fight to reclaim a son who doesn't want to be reclaimed. In an instant, Iris crosses the room and buries herself in his arms.

It's a funny thing about comfort; the giver and the receiver get mixed up—the hug is as soothing to her father as it is to her. "Thanks, sweetheart," he says.

"You too, Dad." Iris stands on tiptoe to kiss her father's cheek, just like she would have when she was little.

After all, memory isn't just a record of the bad and painful things. It's also the place where beautiful days live on, where Iris returns to her childhood and remembers her father comforting her, every time she'd ever done something wrong, with the reminder that love is stronger than any mistake.

\---

The truth is that he's messed up. He's done it again. He's let the wrong people find out who he really is while the right one suffers. Never mind that he had the best of intentions, Barry is too late.

She's so beautiful when she tells him, with tears in her eyes and the hair that always falls over her forehead. He'd allowed himself to think those things might be—well, might be his to treasure for a long time, if not forever.

But Patty is no Iris. For her, coming to a decision means moving on.

It's not that one of them is stronger than the other, he realizes. They've both chosen their lives for themselves. There's a deep bravery to Iris's decision to stay and face the truth, to re-forge relationships past her grief and her anger at the secrets that were kept from her. Patty's bravery is of a different kind, the courage to do the thing she's always dreamed of doing, no matter how many risks she has to take.

And, he finally realizes, mistakes or no, it's not really about him. The truth is, he likes Patty—thought he might come to really love her—because she won't compromise who she is for anyone, and that's a whole lot like Iris West.

\---

Joe wonders how he could possibly have missed the truth. If a mental beating was a physical one, he'd be covered in bruises from all the abuse he's hurled at himself internally over the fact that he'd never figured out Wally existed.

Wally, with his wide eyes and his smart mouth and his craze for speed. There's a spectacular irony in that, Joe thinks. He has one son with so much speed he's still trying to figure out what to do with it all and another son who'd give anything to get it.

His son's resistance to him reminds him a lot of those first few months when Barry had entered his heart and his life, but Barry had been eleven years old. With Wally, he feels the loss of time choking him. He doesn't have a whole childhood to form emotional bonds.

He can't stand to miss another day. But Wally is as stubborn and serious and wary as Joe was at the same age, and that means it won't be easy.


	48. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's so relieved that Wally doesn't pull away that she can practically taste it. It's not like everything is suddenly perfect; she knows that. And it's not like they'll have nothing to work through. But it's a start, the beginning of trust.

Comfort

Iris loves being a sister.

It had taken her time to adjust to having Barry Allen as a part of her family, but not that much. Somehow it had always felt right for her not to be an only child. She wonders, now, if there was some way her subconscious had always known about Wally, about her quiet, intense-eyed brother who wants to look like he doesn't care about anything but obviously cares way too much about everything.

Barry was her age; Wally is younger. She'd never realized how easily she could fit right into the role of older sister. There's a rhythm to it, even when they argue. She wants to take care of Wally, to shield him from pain, and that desperate desire gives her the strength to be as direct as it's in her nature to be.

She has known for years that you can love someone nearly instantly. Even without the same genes, she had come to care about Barry so much within a few weeks that he had his own corner of her heart. Wally—well, he'd had his place in her heart before she'd even laid eyes on him.

That's why she tells him to go see his mother, surprised when he complies. Even more surprised when he asks her to come along. Maybe, she thinks, he has the same feeling of belonging together that she has, whether he wants to admit it or not.

Watching him say goodbye to Francine is possibly the hardest thing Iris has ever done, but she forces herself to stay, feet planted firmly on the floor of the hospital room. She's standing a little way back to give them some privacy, but she can still hear Francine's near whisper of, "Don't worry, Baby. Your sister and your dad will take care of you for me."

Wally leaves his mother with a kiss to her forehead that makes her smile faintly, and Iris follows him out, not wanting to pressure him, just waiting for however he wants to respond. He doesn't say anything until they're out in the parking lot, next to Iris's car.

That's when she sees that he's crying silently, with tears running down his cheeks, not making a sound but sobbing so hard his shoulders are starting to shake. "Oh, Wally," she says, coming close. She'd told herself she wouldn't touch him, wouldn't force affection on him that he's not ready for, but this is different. It's just instinct. She wraps her arms around him and pulls him close, and as if by his own instinct, he leans down a little bit so he can bury his face in his sister's shoulder. Wordlessly, Iris rubs tiny circles on the back of his neck and holds him close with her other arm around his back, letting him cry the way Barry used to cry out his grief in her arms.

She's so relieved that Wally doesn't pull away that she can practically taste it. It's not like everything is suddenly perfect; she knows that. And it's not like they'll have nothing to work through. But it's a start, the beginning of trust.

It's quite a while before Wally's sobs die down and he finally pulls away, wiping his red eyes with his sleeve. "I'm—sorry," he says softly, as if he's done something wrong.

Iris, still standing close, shakes her head. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Wally. I'm just glad you let me come."

She drives back, but she doesn't take her brother home. She brings him to the brightly-colored ice cream place Joe had always brought her and Barry when they'd needed cheering up, and she orders two ultimate sundaes.

For the first time all day, she hears Wally laugh. It's a good sound.

\---

"You ok?"

Barry is so lost in his own thoughts that he doesn't even hear Joe come into the apartment. "Sure—I'm—fine."

"Ok…" his surrogate dad answers dubiously. "It's just that you're sitting here without the TV on, and you have your fists clenched so tightly you look like you're going to break a blood vessel."

Without asking, the cop sits down beside him, close. Barry leans away, just a little bit, but Joe's clearly not having it. He takes one of his big hands and pulls gently on Barry's shoulder until his son is facing him. "Stop acting like the avoidant kid who wouldn't look me in the eye."

Barry blushes and rubs the back of his neck, the way he always does when he feels embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Joe. It's just—I'm angry, and I don't like to show that side—of myself to other people."

"Never noticed that one before," the cop answers with gentle sarcasm. "Why are you angry, Bear?"

"I hate trains," Barry bursts out, clenching his fists again. "I hate how stupid and claustrophobic they are and how hard it is to save people on them because there aren't enough exists, and I hate how they smell and how slow they go."

Joe looks less confused by this than his surrogate son would have expected. In fact, Barry expects a raised eyebrow, but all he sees is patience on the man's face. "Go on, Bear."

Barry curses. It's not something he does often, but he lets off a string of expletives followed by, "Stupid people staring at me, wanting me to save them. Stupid rows of seats. Stupid false alarms."

That's when he feels an arm wrap around him and hears a soft voice help him along. "Stupid girl in the middle of one of those rows, stupid enough that she figured out who you really are?" That's when the dam breaks and the tears burst out of him, and all Barry has to do to find comfort is to move a few centimeters so he can be hugged. Funny how Joe worked that one.

He should have known, by now, that anger really meant sadness. That's how it had always been with him, and Joe had always known, from the very beginning. He doesn't have the energy to try to figure out it, though. He's heartbroken and tired, but as the minutes pass, his surrogate father's love seeps through the cracks in him and starts to mend the broken places.

"Thanks, Joe," he says, head on the man's shoulder.

"You're my son, Bear. This is what I'm here for." Barry feels deja vu back to a day when he'd refused a bowl of macaroni and cheese and found himself in Joe West's arms. He still loves the security he feels there more than almost any feeling in the world.

\---

Joe says goodbye to Francine his own way, by looking through the one photo album he still has, the one he's kept hidden from Iris for her entire life. It has photos of a beautiful girl in a wedding gown, a mother and a baby girl, and the three of them on vacation at the beach.

This is the Francine who still lives in his memory, the one he's tried hard to remember and cherish. There had been wonderful days, blissful days, the happy days when she'd just gotten out of one of her rehab stints and vowed to do better, acting like the funny, whip smart co-ed he'd fallen in love with.

"Bye, Francie," he whispers to her picture, brushing his hand over her smiling face, glad the photos are covered in plastic because his tears are falling all over them.

"Detective West?" The voice belongs to Caitlin Snow. Joe is in Star Labs after hours, using it as his private place to grieve, where he doesn't expect to be met by anyone from the team and where he won't run into his kids coming to his house.

He looks up. "Hi, Caitlin. Sorry if I startled you. I'll be gone in a minute."

She smiles at him. "I'm sorry I barged in. I just came to check out a theory that occurred to me while I was eating dinner."

Joe nods, figuring he probably owes her an explanation too. "Iris's mom—doesn't have long now. I was just looking at some pictures of when we were together. It's like—I lost her a long time ago, but I never really knew what happened. This feels final."

"It hurts more than you'd think," Caitlin echoes. She's looking at her computer screen, not at him. "I lost Ronnie so many times, but it wasn't until the time that I actually watched him pass away that it felt totally real. You'd think once you've given up somebody in so many different ways, that last time would be easier, but it isn't. It's the hardest."

Her computer screen goes black, and Joe watches as she puts a flashdrive into her purse. "I'm ready to go, Detective West. Will you walk me to my car?" Joe nods in approval. Central City in the dead of night isn't a safe place, especially not since metahumans are popping up everywhere. He stays close to her as they head to the small, sensible vehicle parked in her designated space.

"Thank you very much," she says, looking up at him with her sweet smile.

Joe nods. "Thanks for saying all that back there—not many people know how it feels to lose the same person more than once."

"You're welcome" is a whisper in his ear because Dr. Caitlin Snow is standing on tiptoe with her arms around his neck, hugging him. He hugs her back, tightly, and they share a moment that doesn't really have a name. There's nothing romantic or parental about it. It's just two grieving people sharing the comfort that only understanding can bring.

Joe watches the girl drive away safely before he gets into his car. It's been a long day, but he feels ok.


	49. Speed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wally may be ten years older than Barry was when he took his place in the West family, but Joe sees the same pattern, the same determination to run the other way as fast as he can.

Speed

Iris doesn't want to wait. She doesn't want to stand still and watch while her father tiptoes around her brother, acting like the kind of dad who never had a single house rule in his life, let alone grounded anybody. And she's unwilling to wait while her little brother throws his life away.

Directness and patience are a hard combination. She's tried to let things take their course, for her father and Wally to find each other, and somehow, for that to change the course of Wally's too-fast life. But she sees the end too clearly, and she's desperate to avert disaster before it's too late.

Speed is what gets Iris exactly what she's after—the speed of a piece of glass that pierces her skin. It's that same piece of glass that pierces the hard shell of her brother's tender heart and takes him to her bedside. And it's that same translucent glass that finally lets her dad see through his own fear of rejection and past it to his role as a father, the role he was born to play.

Patience is all well and good—sometimes. But other times, love needs a sudden catalyst to show the people who share it exactly what they mean to each other. It's worth the pain Iris feels to finally hear the torrent of words pour out of her brother, a rapid deluge after weeks of silence, words that she values, not just because they teach her about Wally West. Iris is a writer; she knows very well that words shared are the fastest route to a real relationship.

\---

Barry Allen, CSI, could never have conceived of the idea of speed as a commodity that could be stolen, something so precious one being would threaten the child of another to possess it. Barry Allen, The Flash, knows better.

There's something else Barry Allen, CSI, couldn't have imagined, and that's being able to forgive, almost instantly, the man who took from him his most precious gift. But after you've forgiven your deepest enemy for his biggest crime, forgiveness is simpler—not easy, but not insurmountable.

Barry Allen, The Flash, has forgiven the man who destroyed Nora Allen. Forgiving the man who wears the same face for stealing his speed, even though he prizes it so highly, feels nearly weightless by comparison. He's getting addicted to forgiveness—it feels good to let go of the past, to no longer be bound to evil people by their evil deeds.

Besides, a long time ago, a little kid with running shoes used to test a tall cop's capacity for forgiveness on a daily basis. That cop wasn't perfect; sometimes he got angry; a few times he yelled. But he always forgave, and it never took him long.

\---

Wally may be ten years older than Barry was when he took his place in the West family, but Joe sees the same pattern, the same determination to run the other way as fast as he can. The difference is, with Barry, Joe had a captive audience. In the end, the little boy with the hair that wanted to fall over his eyes had always ended up back at Joe's house and, eventually, back in his arms—until he'd finally learned that he had a safe place to stay.

Wally, on the other hand, is on the edge of adulthood, and he can run wherever he wants—even out of his father's life, if he chooses. Joe is scared to death that if he grabs his son and holds on, he'll be left holding nothing.

It takes Iris to show him the truth, that Wally is running for the exact same reason Barry was—to see if anyone will come after him. Age, he finally realizes, doesn't matter so much. Neither of them was ever trying to run so fast he couldn't be caught. Not really.

Being a dad feels right, like putting on an old sweater that fits perfectly. For better or worse, the awkwardness leaves as soon as Joe throws away the pretense of being a friend and claims the title of father. The speed of his son's response almost knocks him off his feet.

It's like the day he'd grounded Barry for running off yet again—and gotten a wholly unexpected thank you and bone-crushing hug from a sniffling kid who was just grateful Joe hadn't given up on him, the kid who still thanks him for being strict when he needed to be. Wally doesn't hug him—yet, but his eyes say everything. He wants to be a son as much as Joe wants to be a dad. His father just wishes he'd realized it sooner.


	50. Time After Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In any world; in any universe; in any place, Iris West would know Barry Allen, and she would love him. She has no doubt.

Time After Time

Iris wakes up to the soft sounds coming from her alarm clock.

I only know what I know

The passing years will show

You've kept my love so young, so new

She turns over and indulges her desire to touch the face of the man next to her, brushing his cheek with her fingertips and tracing his jawline. He always falls asleep on his back and ends up on his side, facing her. "Wake up, Baby," she whispers, kissing his lips.

He opens his eyes, as dazed as he always is in the morning, but then he grins. He always grins, as if he's surprised she's there, as if, after so long, he still can't believe she said yes. "How long before we absolutely have to wake up?" He stretches his long limbs while she does a quick calculation in her head.

"Five minutes, Barry. Not a minute more." He pulls her close and settles her against him, as if she's his security blanket or his teddy bear. Predictably, he falls back asleep, her ears catching his relaxed breathing while she rests against his chest.

She gives him ten minutes.

"This time, it's really time to get up." She extricates herself and kisses him again, this time much harder. "I'll get coffee, and you can reach consciousness while I'm in the shower."

From there, she grabs the clothes on her closet door, the outfit she'd planned the day before, and puts them in the bathroom, then goes to the kitchen and pours a large mug of coffee. "Here you go, sleepy." At least his eyes are still open.

By the time she's out of the shower, her husband has managed to actually get out of bed, and he's rummaging through his closet to find an outfit. "Morning," he says sleepily. "Come over here."

"Why?" she asks, launching into her efficient hair and makeup routine.

"Good morning kiss."

She shakes her head. "You've already had two. You're so greedy, Mr. Allen."

Barry yawns. "I don't really remember those. I wasn't awake yet."

Iris rolls her eyes but stops in the middle of spraying her hair and comes over to stand on tiptoe and return his hug and kiss. "I think you're lying," she says when he lets go. You're lucky I like kissing you."

She finishes her eyeliner and lipstick, then moves on to putting her jacket over her shirt and checking her appearance in the full-length mirror. It's satisfactory; she looks like a woman who runs a police precinct.

Barry comes out of the bathroom just as she's ready, and she marvels again at how quickly his routine goes. He's standing in front of her, all ready, so handsome, like a present without wrapping, just wonderful the way he is.

"Come on. We'll be late." She takes his hand.

—-

Iris stares across the table at one of the two men in the world she loves. He's so good looking, but he doesn't know it. He's just himself, like always. Unassuming. Sweet. Strong and resolute in his decision.

If she could, she would scream at him not to go, but when her voice comes out, it's measured and even. She can't stop him. It's his calling to help; it's who he is.

She lets herself imagine another Barry Allen. The idea of alternate universes has always fascinated her, but she's never really considered the practical implications the way she does now. He could be evil. Judging by the breachers, versions of people in the other—place aren't always the moral, kind friends she knows.

But he wouldn't be. Barry couldn't be. It's impossible. Earth-2 Barry Allen would be—is (it's hard to keep it straight in her mind) a warm, safe, loving person. He's strong, and he's kind. He could never be anything or anyone else.

And there must be an Earth-2 Iris; she can't think about that too much, or her brain hurts. Jay says people who know each other on Earth-1 may not even be acquaintances in the other place. Choices lead to very different outcomes.

But she would know Barry Allen. There's no way this other Iris could escape the magnetic destiny that Iris feels sitting at her father's dining room table, looking across at her constant.

In any world; in any universe; in any place, Iris West would know Barry Allen, and she would love him. She has no doubt.

Later on, as she's driving, she turns on the radio station that only plays old, classic songs. She likes them; they make her feel at home.

Time after time

I tell myself that I'm

So lucky to be loving you

______________________________________

Barry slides into the waking world with the butterfly tickle of fingers caressing his face and then lips pressing against his own, like the sky kissing the ground.

Iris. The woman named for a flower.

A grin slowly fills his face. She's in his bed. She's supposed to be in his bed. She's his—wife.

"How long before we absolutely have to wake up?" It's one of their early days, too rushed for much in the way of romance. But he wants to hold her; he always wants to hold her, no matter how long they've been together.

He pulls her into his arms and snuggles into her, their contours fitting perfectly against each other. He drifts away in a cocoon of deep security.

Lips. Those same lips. This time they kiss with purpose. He wants to put his hands around his wife's waist and make her stay, but he can hardly keep his eyes open, and she leaves the room.

She puts a mug into his hands, warm, strong coffee from the timed maker in the kitchen. The smell itself makes him feel more human, and he sips it while he watches Iris disappear into the bathroom. He can't go back to sleep. She's too gorgeous to miss.

He drinks half of the cup and stumbles out of bed, grabbling his glasses off his nightstand and then rummaging through his closet to find something that will make him look presentable at the CCPD. He's not really sure why Iris married him when she could have married anyone.

His wife emerges from the bathroom. "Morning." He's temporarily forgotten what he was doing at the closet

She nods, going over to the dresser, turning her back to him. He's not ready for that. "Come over here." He wants a kiss he's fully present for, and he gets it, with Iris's arms around his neck.

After he's finally put together a bowtie and an average outfit, he takes a quick shower and does his hair. Like always, he comes out to find his wife finishing her routine, so beautiful she makes him stop and stare for a minute. He wouldn't care what she wore or how she did her hair or what she put on her face, but he has to admit, she looks like a perfect combination of stunning and intimidating, all the better to take charge of the precinct.

"Come on. We'll be late." Her hand is much smaller than his, but when her fingers lace around his own, he feels perfectly safe.

—-

Barry Allen looks across the table at the one woman in the world he loves. She's beautiful, but she doesn't know it. She's just herself, wise and direct and gentle.

If he could, he wouldn't go. He would stay with her and be her friend and her protector in the life he loves so very much, the life he would do anything to keep. If she begged him hard enough, he would probably fold. But it's in her nature to be brave, to do what has to be done and to sacrifice.

He's so lucky. If there's an Earth-2 Iris—surely there must be—he can't possibly know her. She's probably a Pulitzer Prize winner or a model or a champion MMA fighter or something—maybe all three at once. There's no way she knows Barry Allen, whoever he might be in an alternate universe. Even in this one, the serendipity that brought him into her life is more than he will ever be able to understand or deserve.

But there's a part of him that wonders about destiny. There's a force that pulls him toward her, no matter where he goes or what he does—or who he tries to love. And sometimes he thinks he almost sees in her eyes that she couldn't live without him in her life any more than he could live without her in his.

Love is a powerful thing. It spans oceans and continents. It breaks through cultures and differences. It whispers forgiveness into pain and understanding into separation. There is nowhere it cannot conquer. It even managed to fill the heart of a little boy who thought he had nothing left inside him but grief.

Surely love is big enough to fill Earth-2, and perhaps, just maybe, there's a little piece of it left to bring together an average man and the most beautiful woman in the world.

_________________________________________________

Joe is dying. He knows it, even though no one is saying it. The doctors have left him alone with his children because there's nothing else they can do.

Children, not child. He realizes, nearly too late, that he doesn't hate Barry Allen. How could he hate that earnest-eyed kid who just wants to do the right thing? He knows, with the clarity that comes at the end, that he'd projected his worry and anger over Iris onto someone who didn't deserve it. She was always going to be a cop, no matter what he or Barry or anyone else did about it.

He could have loved Barry.

That's why, when he makes eye contact, it's not hostile. He can feel himself pulling away, his last breaths entering and leaving him, gifts of precious time. All he can offer Allen is his trust, the command to take care of his daughter, spoken in a tone that says he believes—finally—that Barry will, because he's worth more than Joe has ever realized before.

The kid nods; they understand each other, finally. And there's forgiveness in the eyes behind those wire-rimmed glasses. He does love Barry, here at the end of it all.

—-

Joe is scared, but he's trying not to let on. "Don't make me come get you." He means it; he would go through any breach or fire or flood to find his son. It's the same phrase he used to say when Barry or Iris left on dates or for parties, even for college. It wasn't a threat; it was a promise. And it was always said with his arms around them, just as he says it now.

He doesn't care much about what's in Earth-2, as long as it doesn't hurt his kid, but maybe there's a Joe West over there. Maybe there's a guy like him with a daughter he wants to keep safe.

His mind trails off, and he wonders about Barry. Maybe he has a family in Earth-2. Maybe he never needed a cop to run after him and take him in and love him. Maybe he was ok.

Except that doesn't work for Joe. That doesn't work at all. He would know Barry Allen in any universe, and he would love him. A different universe isn't enough. You can't separate fathers and sons that easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm unbelievably thrilled that Chapter 50 coincides with one of the most beautiful episodes The Flash has produced so far. Thank you to everyone who has been with this story for a while now and to those who are just finding it. This chapter is dedicated to every single one of you. Special thoughts to my dear friend @thegraceofchristsustainsme on Tumblr, who inspires me to write about The Flash and especially about Iris West.


	51. Coming with You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some day, Barry will fall in step with his best friend without a second thought. It won't matter where they go. It will only matter that they go together.

Coming with You

"Iris, is it ok if—I come with you?"

Eleven-year-old Iris West is getting ready to go to the library. She always goes on Fridays because she loves books, and it's one of the only places her father will leave her on her own, because the librarians all know her, and there's a security guard.

She's picking up her bookbag, but she looks over at her new brother when she hears his hesitant tone. He's watching her like his life depends on what she says.

"Of course, Barry. You can come any time." He grins. She likes it when he grins. It doesn't happen very often, and she's proud that she caused it.

Her father drops them off at the Central City Library West entrance, and Iris falls into step with her companion. She decides to go for it—to go ahead and say what's on her mind. It's no good to avoid things with Barry. He won't ever bring them up; he's too scared.

"You know you're my best friend, right?"

"Sure," he says softly, looking down and rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"I mean it," she says, lightly touching his arm to stop him going inside. "I like when we do things together. You don't have to ask if you can come with me. You can always come."

Barry looks over at her, and she would almost swear she sees tears in his eyes. "Thanks, Iris. I like doing things with you, too."

They find a table; they read together. Iris doesn't mind going alone, but it feels even better to have Barry with her. They don't like the same kinds of books, but it's fun to look up and see somebody across from her who likes reading as much as she does.

That day doesn't fix everything. It doesn't stop Barry asking and still looking scared that she won't want him. But gradually, things change, until she can't imagine living without him around, his long legs making her walk faster, and his smile—he grins all the time after a while—lighting up her world. He doesn't ask any more; he just comes.

—-

"I'm coming with you."

Iris has never loved her husband any more than she does in this moment. She loves his round glasses, his bowtie, the way his eyes crinkle when he's sincere. Mostly, she loves the way he worries over her and won't let her be the only protective one, even though she's the one with the gun.

There's a question on his face. He's afraid she won't want him. Of course she wants him. She wants him next to her, no matter what happens. He's the one who makes her feel safe, even if he couldn't fight a villain to save his life.

She nods, and she sees instant relief flood his eyes.

"My wife," "my husband." The Allens are still learning about marriage, but Iris is pretty sure this is exactly what those words mean—walking stride-for-stride, going to fight a war they may not win. Doing it together, a team, two who can't be separated by anything.

She should be focusing on the mission, and she is, but she can't help looking over, every now and then, and studying the sharp-featured profile of the man she loves. He's afraid; she can tell. But afraid doesn't matter. Not when it comes to loving her. When it comes to that, Barry Allen is the bravest man alive.

\------------------------

"Iris, is it ok if—I come with you?"

Iris is pretty and smart and cool. She's popular at school; everybody likes her. Barry wonders why in the world she would want him. It's one thing for her to be nice at home; it's another thing to be seen in public with a science nerd who couldn't be cool if he spent every second trying.

But lately, he's started to wonder if—she might actually like him. She smiles when he comes into her room, and sometimes she gives him hugs. He doesn't always know what to do, but he likes it. Sometimes he almost feels like her brother—her much less popular and less cool brother.

"Of course, Barry. You can come any time." He can't not smile.

He really likes going to the library with Iris. They don't have to talk. They just sit and read, and occasionally, she smiles at him from across the table. A couple of her friends come by, older kids, and she says hi. It doesn't even seem like she's embarrassed that he's there.

He doesn't know it then, but they will do more and more things together, until he can hardly remember when they didn't. After a while, he won't feel alone and friendless any more because he will be absolutely sure that Iris belongs to him the way no friend ever has before. And he will come to believe that she wants him to belong to her, too.

Some day, Barry will fall in step with his best friend without a second thought. It won't matter where they go. It will only matter that they go together.

—-

"I'm coming with you."

He would dive into an active volcano if Iris was going there. If—she said it was ok, that is. It's not that she tells him what to do, or that he tells her. They're not that kind of couple. But this is her domain; she's a cop, and she knows what she's doing.

But he wants to come. "Please let me, please let me," his brain screams, while his eyes signal his desperation. He can't bear the thought of letting her go alone. It's not about what he can do; it's about being there for his wife, loving her with their steps side-by-side.

She nods, and he doesn't think he's ever loved her more, here at the beginning of something terrifying. She's so brave—and she wants him. It's so overwhelming he can't let himself think about it. He just has to move.

Barry feels his wife's eyes on him, admiring eyes. She's calmer because he's there; it feels amazing. His presence has always been a shield for her, regardless of the fact that she's the one with the training and the gun. He's her protector, and it's a role he would gladly die performing.

All that matters is that they face the danger—what ever it is—together. That's what it means to be husband and wife.

\------------------------------

Joe West walks up to the Central City East police precinct. He started his career there, and he doesn't like it much—it's small, dirty, and it always smells. But none of that matters.

"Officer West."

"Detective Mullin." Joe exchanges greetings with the female detective at the desk by the door, but he's really concentrating on the little boy who's sitting in a metal chair at the back of the station. He has scared eyes.

"Come here, Son." He holds out a hand, and to his relief, Barry walks over slowly and takes it. He can feel the kid's fear pulsating. "Do I need to sign something?" He just wants to get his little boy home.

"Nah," says Mullin. "Just a lost kid. We don't even record those if there's a parent."

"Thanks," he answers tersely, still holding tight to the little boy's hand.

Once they're outside, he pulls Barry to the far side of his car and kneels down. "You want to tell me what happened?"

The hoodie-clad boy can't meet his eyes. "I—went home, and then I just started walking, and I got lost. That's it."

Joe sighs. "Son, I've tried to be lenient. I get that you're still going through things, but I have to ground you this time. You can't keep running like this. I might lose you." He stands up, and to his shock, Barry nearly knocks him down with the force of the hug he gives him.

"I was scared you weren't going to come," he sniffles.

Joe crouches back down, so the little boy can rest his head on his shoulder, and so he can hold him tighter and stroke his hair, something that always seems to comfort him. After a while, when the sniffles are gone, and Barry's body feels relaxed in his hold, Joe pulls back a little bit and puts his hands on either side of the little boy's face. "Barry, Son, no matter where you end up, I will always come for you, and we'll go home together. No matter what."

Barry nods, and Joe gives him another hug, a tight, hard one that he hopes will stick his promise to the little boy like superglue, so he'll never be able to forget it.

—-

Breachers, metahumans, alternate universes. Whatever.

Joe West has a son somewhere, and those science kids are telling him that there's only one way to make sure he gets him back. The decision is made before it's even made. It's not even a decision. He would do literally anything to get Barry back.

He doesn't care about the risk. It's all weird and mindbending, but none of that matters. His mind is focused on one thing: the face of a kid who finally calls him Dad.

"I will always come for you, and we'll go home together." He doesn't remember some things from fifteen years back, but he sure remembers that conversation. It's a promise he made, and he doesn't break promises to his children.

He does what he has to do, and it works. That's all that matters. He doesn't breathe a sigh of relief until he has an arm around Barry, his son solid and unharmed next to him. He drives the kid home, and when they get there, he has to resist the urge to put him over his shoulder and carry him inside—he looks as tired as he did the night Joe had to rescue him from Central City East, a night he'd carried him to bed. Instead, he settles for offering a shoulder to his weary son, helping him walk so he doesn't fall over.

"Joe," Barry says softly.

"Mhmm?"

"Thanks for bringing me home."

"Told you I would, Son," Joe answers, "and I meant it."


	52. Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sitting on a stone bench, holding hands, she has the strange feeling of knowing Barry Allen better than she knows anyone else in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is going to be a completely flashback chapter, to exactly how Iris and Barry became friends and to exactly how Barry ended up with the Wests after his mother's murder. If that's not your thing, feel free to skip it, since it doesn't tie to a particular episode of The Flash. It's my own little gift to myself for reaching 50 chapters, and I hope some of you will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Bear

The first time Iris West really talks to Barry Allen is on a bench outside the Central City Police Department. She's seen him at school. He's in her homeroom, and they've said hi a few times. He's shy; she usually isn't all that shy around other kids, but something about his timidity bleeds over and makes her feel like she is. She's a lot taller than his slight frame, but that isn't a big deal. She's taller than most of the boys her age.

This time, late in the evening, Iris's Daddy gets a call on his phone. She watches as his face changes from calm to horror. As soon as he hangs up, he grabs his jacket from its hook by the door. "Baby, come here." He gives Iris a very tight hug; she doesn't understand why.

"I have to go. I hate leaving you alone at this time of night, but you know the phone number for Mrs. Clark across the street, and you can call me at work if anything bad happens. Just tell Officer Mary who you are, and she'll put you through."

Iris nods very seriously. "Ok, Daddy." He hugs her again, so tight it almost hurts. They've always been big on hugs, but this is weird.

"Everything is going to be fine." She's left alone as her father leaves the house. She believes him. He never lies to her.

Still, the little girl can't sleep. She's not used to being alone in the house at night. She'd always thought it would be fun, but it isn't. She makes sure the door is locked and turns on the TV, but it's hard to concentrate. Finally, she goes to her room and picks up a book, Anne of Green Gables. She reads for an hour before the phone rings.

"Iris, Baby, I need you to do something for me." It's her father.

"Sure, Daddy."

"I'm sending Officer Mary to pick you up. She's going to bring you here. There's a kid—Barry Allen, from your class. You know, you guys are friends. Something happened at his house. We're not exactly sure what, but it would help if you came and talked to him. Do you think you can do that?"

"Ok," she answers, figuring he must have seen her saying bye to Barry after school or something. It's not like they're that close. But she would do anything for her dad. She waits ten minutes, and Officer Mary Doyle pulls up in her cruiser outside. Iris and her father don't live far from the station; that way, her dad can get there quickly when he needs to.

"What happened?" she asks, sliding into the passenger's seat. Iris likes Officer Mary; she's nice.

"Not sure, hon," says the woman on the other side. "Your dad and a couple of the guys are working on it. Joe wanted me to tell you not to worry about anything Barry says. He's—not making a lot of sense right now. They're sending a child psychologist down from Starling City on the redeye flight, but she won't be here until tomorrow morning. Just listen, and don't try to talk him out of anything."

Iris nods, but she has no idea what any of it means, so she just watches out the window until they get to the huge station building where her Daddy works. Officer Mary lets her out near the door, and she walks over to where her dad is standing by a stone bench that sits under a streetlight, right next to Barry Allen. Neither of them says anything.

"Hi," Iris says softly.

"Hi, Honey," her father answers. He sounds nervous, which isn't like him at all. "Barry, you know Iris from school." The silent boy doesn't respond.

"Iris, I need you to stay with Barry while I go back inside and do some paperwork." He hands her a walkie-talkie. "You guys have any problems, you call me." She nods, and he hurries back into the building as fast as he can without running.

"Hi, Barry," she says. "Do you want to sit down?"

"Ok." His voice is even quieter than usual, but he takes his place next to her. She doesn't really know what to do. She's never done anything like this before. "Do you—want to talk—about anything?" she asks.

Barry shakes his head hard, his breathing fast and sharp. Iris is only eleven, but she recognizes what he's doing. It's exactly what she does when she knows that she'll start crying if she opens her mouth. The little girl reaches over and takes his left hand in her right one. She doesn't know what else to do.

Barry puts his head down, blinking hard. Iris has no idea what made him like this, but she's angry at it, whatever it is.

"It's—ok if you cry."

He looks over at her, his eyes wet, and then crumples against her like he's not strong enough to sit up any more. He finally cries, and his sobs are so violent they make Iris's body shake almost as much as his.

Iris reaches around him and holds on tight. She doesn't really know how or why, but there's an instinct to it. She rubs his neck and his shoulders, and she wonders if he even remembers who it is that's holding him. He's so lost in his own painful world.

The little girl's arms are beyond tiredness to actual pain before Barry's sobs die down, but she wouldn't pull them away for the world. Finally, he sits up and rubs his eyes. He doesn't say anything, but she takes his hand again, and he closes his fingers around hers.

It's the first time in Iris's life that someone has cried in her arms. She doesn't know that before she'd come, Barry had refused every other person's attempts at comfort, that he'd winced away from anyone else who tried to touch him. She only knows that there's a closeness in shared pain that she's never understood before. Sitting on a stone bench, holding hands, she has the strange feeling of knowing Barry Allen better than she knows anyone else in the world.

Years later, when Iris remembers that night, she always remembers it as the first time they'd really talked. It takes effort to recall that they'd never really said anything at all. The truth is, some communication is beyond words.

\---

The second time Barry Allen really talks to Iris West is on a bench in front of the Central City Police Department, two weeks after his mother's murder. He's angry. Angry because no one will listen to his story about what really happened, no one will let him go home, and no one will tell him where he's going to be staying after this. He's been going from house to house every couple of nights; everyone's been nice, but he hates every one of them.

"Hi, Barry." Officer West lets Iris off at the entrance to the station, and she comes over. "My dad said you were stuck here for a while, answering some questions."

Wordlessly, he moves from the middle of the bench to the left side to give her space to sit down. He may be mad, but he's not a jerk. Besides, Iris is the prettiest girl he's ever seen.

"Want to talk about anything?"

It's the same question as before, but this time it gets an answer. This time, Barry spews out the story no one will believe. Iris doesn't look surprised, so he can tell that her dad must have explained it all to her. She just looks sad.

"I know there's not anything I can say to make it better," she says quietly, when he's finally finished, "but I'm really sorry." He sees tears in her eyes.

"Thanks for—last time." His voice is abrupt. He thought he wanted to forget his breakdown and ignore the fact that Iris has seen him at his very worst. But when he's next to her, with the end of her hair brushing against his face in the breeze, he doesn't feel ashamed any more. He feels calmer with her than with anyone else he's talked to since the worst night of his life.

"You're welcome," she says.

"Iris, are we—friends?" Suddenly, it seems to Barry like that's the most important question in the entire world.

She looks over at him and smiles. "Of course we are."

He does not know that her answer will echo in his mind for years—in moments when he's tempted to feel alone, when he can't sleep, when his grief threatens to swallow him up, and when a guy in a red suit can't go as fast as he needs to go. He will close his eyes and picture a bright-eyed little girl in a purple hoodie who said he was her friend, and he will find that feeling of safety once again.

\---

The first time Joe West really talks to Barry Allen is three weeks after Nora Allen's murder. Barry has been difficult. What kid wouldn't be? He's normally a good kid—top of his class, never in trouble, polite to his teachers. Now, he's become a pint-sized volcano, going from completely silent to yelling a fantasy about a yellow streak, and back again.

"Just going to have to wait it out," says the psychologist. "Severe trauma affects every child differently."

Barry's been in short-stay refuge homes, people who will take a kid for a night or two but no longer; there's no extended family to send him to. The detectives and social workers have been throwing around phrases like "group home" and "long-term foster care" for a week.

Every time Joe hears those words, his heart contracts in his chest. He's already chased the kid around Central City. He's listened to hours of ranting and hours of silence. He's been pushed away and punched in the chest by fists that couldn't hurt him but brought tears to his eyes anyway.

It's the day he knows they're going to sign the papers, to send Barry somewhere to float around a messed-up system and probably become a juvenile offender because he'll never get the therapy or the nurturing he needs. Surely, Joe thinks, a kid who's been through that kind of pain needs extra care, not the below-average pittance he's likely to get.

The little boy is in a back room by himself. They're waiting on his caseworker to arrive so everything can be finalized. So Barry Allen can become another statistic in a big city with too much crime.

Joe knocks on the glass window of the office where Barry is sitting, slumped over. Then, he opens the door and comes inside, taking his place on a metal chair, right across from the little boy. "I need to talk to you." Barry nods. He's a smart kid, and Joe knows that he's aware of what's happening around him, to him.

"Son, I know you get what's going on out there. Pam's coming here, and Chief Andrews is going to sign some papers that say we don't need you for the investigation any more. That means—Pam's going to take you to a group home until they can find a foster family for you." He sees the apprehension in Barry's eyes, even though the little boy is trying very hard to hide it.

Joe continues. "I'm telling you this so you understand exactly what your options are. The thing is, Bear, I talked to Iris today. We'd—we'd like to ask you to stay with us, to live with us permanently." He doesn't say "become part of our family," even though he wants to. It wouldn't be fair to push the kid that hard.

Joe sees pure wonder fill the kid's eyes. "Why?" he asks. "I—hit you."

All Joe wants to do is reach a few inches and put his arms around the little boy, but he knows better than to try. Not yet. Instead, he just nods matter-of-factly. "That's right, I forgave you, and it doesn't change a thing. I want you to move in with us."

Barry reaches back and rubs his hair and the back of his neck, a nervous, self-soothing habit Joe will come to know well. "But why?" He's not going to let that one go.

"I love you, Bear. That's the truth." And it is. Three weeks of day-in and day-out crying and punching and screaming and running, and he loves Barry Allen more than he'd ever realized he could love a child who didn't share his genes.

Barry cries, not the uncontrollable kind of tears, the quiet kind that come from somewhere very deep. Again, Joe pushes down the urge to try to hold him, but he lets himself reach out a big hand and cup the little boy's right cheek very gently. "Come home with us, Son." He's flooded with relief when he feels an almost-imperceptible nod against his hand.

Joe doesn't know why Barry said yes, exactly. It's not like they'd bonded in any kind of positive or happy way—yet. And Barry doesn't really know either. Any time Joe asks him, years later, he just says thanks and gives his foster father a hug.

The truth is something small and simple and huge and monumental. It's something Barry can't remember later because his mind files it in a deep, dark corner with a lot of the memories from those three weeks that he'll never be able to recall again with any kind of clarity.

It's the way a cop with big hands looked him in the eyes and called him Bear.

Not his full name, sharp and loud, the way the other cops said it, or soft and weird and fakely understanding the way the psychologist and the social workers said it. Just "Bear," a nickname that sounded warm and kind and a little bit like something to hang onto. He couldn't have explained it, but he knew he wanted to go home with the man who said his name the way Joe West said it

That's why, though he can't explain it in words, Barry never stops loving the way his surrogate dad and his not-sister call him Bear, because it makes him feel instantly better—safer, calmer, and deeply loved.

To the world, his name is Barry Allen. To his family, he'll always be Bear.


	53. The Kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I told him you're my son, that as far as I'm concerned, I have three kids, and you're all equal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really liked that "King Shark," as an episode, was a little bit unusual for The Flash in the sense that instead of showing Joe and Iris comforting Barry and snapping him out of his funk, the emphasis was on Barry's own self-determination and some very sensible advice from Diggle. I also liked that we saw Joe focusing on both sons when they needed his attention and not being willing to enable any kind of dysfunctional behavior. What all this means is that I have more leeway than usual to add in scenes that I'm pretty convinced probably belong between the lines of the episode, but for once, I'm glad they went a slightly less expected direction in the ep itself. I'm also going to do something I've never done before, which is to give you Wally's perspective. That's not something I plan to keep doing, but he was such an important part of this ep that I want to include him, especially since the script itself gave us huge amounts of Barry's POV already.
> 
> Also, thank you for the positive feedback on the flashback chapter. You're all aces, and I love you. I'll try to keep updates coming so that we can get through this mini-hiatus as quickly and painlessly as possible. Personally, I can't wait to get back to Earth-2 one of these days, but I'm sure whatever is ahead will be terrific.

The Kids

"Give me a hug." Iris is standing in the doorway of Barry's police lab.

"What?" He blinks, putting down the case file he's working on. He looks tired.

"I said, give me a hug. You haven't hugged me in over a week. It feels weird." She puts her hands on her hips, staring him down.

"Iris, I—"

"If it's no big deal, come and hug me. If it is a big deal, tell me why. I'm over this bizarre atmosphere. Between you and Dad and Wally and all this Earth-2 stuff, I need at least one normal thing in my life."

Barry stands up and pulls a chair over to face his. "All right. You want to talk? Let's talk." Iris can tell that he's a little bit annoyed; she doesn't care. She can deal with irritation as long as the air gets cleared.

She takes her seat and looks into her best friend's face. "Is this still about Earth-2, Barry?"

He nods, and to her surprise, his eyes immediately fill with tears. Even for someone as open as he usually is, it's unusual. She figures that her intuition was correct, her inference that if she gave Barry a time to talk, he would let his guard down with her.

"Iris, I didn't tell you before. On Earth-2, I—had to act like Barry for a while, the other one, I mean. I didn't realize he was married to the other Iris until she pulled me into a hallway and started making out with me." He blushes, and Iris really wants to laugh, but she wouldn't let herself for a million dollars. Still, the mental picture is priceless.

He goes on. "I went home with her. We had a house and a life, and—we were happy. I mean, it wasn't my life. I was borrowing it. But it felt so good. It was only a few hours, though, before I was at the hospital with you—I mean, not you, the other one—watching her father die. I held her, Iris. She believed I was her husband. I didn't know what to do, but I couldn't tell her. When she finally found out, there wasn't any time. We just had to escape as fast as we could. I never really got to say I was sorry for stealing that moment—when she should have been with her husband and for—taking her kisses. I didn't mean to."

Iris puts out a hand and places it on top of Barry's where it rests on his knee. "Tell me about the other Barry."

Her surrogate brother smiles then, for the first time in quite a while. "He was—kind of like me before the particle accelerator, I guess. But he was a good man, Iris. He was brave. Even in that couple of days, he did things that he'd never done before. All the rest of us were used to it, but he just did it because he loved his wife and because it was the right thing to do. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him. He gave me the courage to escape from Zoom. He doesn't have my powers, but he's a bigger hero than I am."

Iris shakes her head. "I doubt that, Barry. But tell me more about Iris." She hopes that talking about his own doppleganger has calmed him down enough to get to the bottom of things.

He looks her in the eyes. "I can't. She was—too much like you." So much for being open and relaxed, she thinks.

"Then let me tell you something," Iris says firmly. "If the other Iris was anything like me, then she's thankful you were there for her, and she understands. Because nobody anything like me could ever hate you."

"Barry, the reason she believed you were her husband, that she took you into that hallway to kiss you and that she trusted you to comfort her—it's all because of who you are, the man you are inside. She felt safe with you because you're just as kind and decent and loving and brave as that other guy with your name. I don't care what you say. I know it's true. You made everybody believe you were him because the person you both are—the hero—isn't something you can fake; it's just something you are."

Barry has tears running down his face, and Iris just sits and waits, with her hand in his. Finally, she says softly, "Barry, I'm not the Iris from Earth-2. I'm the girl who grew up in the next room from yours. I'm your best friend. Nothing's changed. I just want you back."

Barry wipes his sleeve across his eyes and nods. "You're right. I'm just—glad to be home."

He gets up, pulling Iris along with him, and they move in for a hug at the exact same moment. She holds on tightly, wiling every ounce of her love to seep out of her and into him.

"I love you," she says.

"I love you too."

She drives home, imagining what it would be like to be married to Barry. Speaking of weird. She shakes her head and turns on her car radio. It's just too bizarre to think about. Still, a little part of her is jealous of the Earth-2 Iris, who, for a few hours, got to find out exactly what it would be like.

\---

It's ridiculous, Wally figures, to act like a jealous kid when you're old enough to be out on your own, to not even need your brand-new family if you don't want them. There's no reason you should feel threatened by the good-looking, smart, successful foster brother who lives in your dad's house. It's not like any of it matters.

Except, it does matter, and you find yourself frustrated and acting ten years younger than your age and feeling like an idiot because if your dad already thought the other guy was better than you, well, now he's going to think it even more. So you stuff it down and smile and try to act like it doesn't matter, figuring that maybe you'll leave again and make them miss you. Only, you're not sure they would.

And you don't really want to go. You don't want to leave the city with the house where it's always family night and there's always homemade food and somebody around to talk to you. It means something to have somebody to talk to, more than it ever has before, more than it did when your beautiful mother was around to make sure you were ok.

It's stupid to love people you barely know, Wally thinks. But you can't stop the feelings that won't shut up in your head now that you know the dad you've always wondered about. You'd have an easier time with it if he was a bad guy or a jerk, but he's kind and he's strong and he's loving and he's solid, like somebody you can lean on. He's the kind of dad you've always wanted, the kind everybody wants. So you let him hug you, and you hug back, and you feel safe, but then you despise yourself for feeling that way when you think about Mr. Perfect sitting off the the side, probably judging you, probably making you look bad by comparison.

That's why, when you sit down to have coffee with your new dad, you test him. You give him a chance to give all the credit for your work to the other guy, but he won't do it, and you start to hope that maybe you've been wrong all along. You hear the whole story about a kid without a mom, and maybe you even start to feel some empathy for Mr. Perfect. You don't know it, but you're getting a bona fide Joe West peptalk, and there aren't very many people in the world, let alone Central City, who can keep feeling bad after one of those.

"Thanks, Dad." You get a real hug this time. A long one, not just for a casual hello or goodbye, and you hug back and feel like a kid coming home. Maybe it's not that bad to act like a kid sometimes, not when you have somebody good to hug you tight and call you his son.

Maybe you're not sure yet, but having a brother isn't sounding like such a bad thing either. Even if he does have stupidly perfect teeth.

\---

Joe is glad to find his son still up when he gets home from his extra shift at the CCPD. He's glad they've talked about Earth-2 and proud of Barry for uniting the Star Labs team toward a common goal, but he has different things to discuss, things closer to his family and his heart.

"Hey, Bear, can we talk for a minute?"

"Ok." The kid doesn't seem as tortured as he was, but he still has a tired look around his eyes, and it's not like him to sit alone, staring at the walls and not doing anything. Joe knows he wasn't wrong to admit to Wally that he's been overprotective, but it's hard not to be when he sees the lost look that still fills Barry's face sometimes.

Joe grabs two Cokes from the fridge and comes into the living room. "I wanted to let you know I talked to Wally." He hands over one of the cans and sits in the chair that faces the couch where his son is. "I told him you're not perfect."

Barry smiles wryly. "No joke."

"I told him something else, too," Joe says. "I told him you're my son, that as far as I'm concerned, I have three kids, and you're all equal." Barry nods, and Joe sees tears in his eyes. He cries easily these days, ever since Earth-2 and Jay Garrick.

The cop gently pulls on his son's arm so that his shirt cuff falls below the watch that's securely fastened around his wrist. "Barry, if you ever doubt what you mean to me or Iris, you just look at this and remember why I gave it to you."

His son nods. "Thank you—for talking to Wally. I promise I'll try harder to be a good brother to him."

Joe shakes his head. "Bear, what you've been through lately would put anybody off his game. All you need to do is to treat Wally the way you usually treat everybody. If you stop trying so hard and just let it happen, it will. I promise. I know both of you too well to doubt it."

Barry nods in the middle of a yawn, and Joe gets up. "Let's go to bed, Son."

He hugs the kid for about the millionth time in his life, but Barry holds on a little longer than usual. "Thanks for being my dad, Joe,"

The cop goes to his room and goes through his nighttime routine, but he's thinking about what he said to his other son, about the love and the pride he feels whenever he thinks about who Barry is versus who he might have become. He's watched an angry, hurting kid become a man who admits when he's wrong and loves with his whole self. It gives Joe hope—he got through to Barry Allen; it may take time, but he'll get through to Wally West too.


	54. Entwined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of the fragments of your life, twisted and mixed with the lives of others, comes a new and stronger self, an identity that is bigger and better than you could ever be on your own

Entwined

He's a nice guy, Iris tells herself. Funny. Awkward, but in the sweet way, not the annoying way. Handsome. Almost perfect, really.

Except, he's not Eddie, with his dorky laugh that always came three seconds after everyone else had gotten the joke. His romantic gestures. His sweetness. And his bravery. Before him, she'd never thought any other man could be as brave as her father. Eddie was. He's gone, but she remembers him so vividly that sometimes it still feels like he lives with her.

And he's not Barry, her best friend, her husband in another world and an unexplored future. The one who can sit across from her and get her to open up in seconds. The one she finds herself holding onto without realizing it, brushing his fingers, reaching for his hugs. Her wool sweater against the world's coldness, the one she wraps around herself to protect her against the chill.

She shouldn't pass up an opportunity like Scott. But for all he is—there's just so much he's not.

\---

It's not like Barry knows how it feels to disintegrate physically, reduced to minuscule remains like Eliza Harmon, but he knows exactly how it feels to disintegrate inside, to feel pulled to pieces by the demands of the world, until your own identity fractures into a million pieces.

But then something amazing happens—if you let it. Out of the fragments of your life, twisted and mixed with the lives of others, comes a new and stronger self, an identity that is bigger and better than you could ever be on your own, because it's connected with other people.

With friends, with fathers, with Iris.

He lives surrounded by beautiful women—Caitlin, Linda, Patty for a time, even the ill-fated Eliza. He values each one, little parts of himself twisted and entwined in a different way with each.

But Iris is different. Iris runs through him, through every memory and thought and hope. Through every imagination of the future and every moment of nostalgia for the past.

Other people lay claim to parts of his heart. He doesn't remember giving any of it to Iris; he simply realized, one day, that she possessed the whole thing.

\---

Joe feels the pain of Harrison Wells as acutely as if it was his own. He knows what it is to love your children so fiercely that you're willing to kill to keep them safe. And when Jesse leaves, he feels the other man's agony at having half of his heart ripped away.

There's an ugliness to loving so much. But there's a beauty too, a painful one. He remembers well the day of Iris's birth when he'd looked into her infant eyes and known that the center of his world had changed forever. Very different, but equally powerful, was the day he'd invited a scared little boy into his life and heart, once again knowing his time would be even shorter and his bank account even smaller—but not caring one bit. Still fresh is the piercingly beautiful wound of finding Wally, of loving a son who's almost grown and knowing that, yet again, his heart has grown to accommodate the pain and the joy that fatherhood brings.

The others don't understand Wells, not the way he does. They sympathize, but his empathy is almost unbearable.


	55. What You Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe, if he could change everything, it wouldn't have turned out the way he'd hoped. Nothing is perfect; nothing can be.

What you Need

-You can't always get what you want-

Iris is staring at the face of a man on a screen. He's serious, solemn, trying to find the right words to say—the words to capture a shadow of what can't be spoken, a few lines pulled from an infinite book of thoughts he's had about her, memories they've shared.

Tears roll down her cheeks. There was no closure for her when he left the world. Just blankness on the end of a gunshot. No long goodbye, no letting go. No time to try to gather up their time together and figure out what it meant.

She feels like a widow sometimes. The moment she'd accepted his proposal was it for her—she'd have taken her commitment to the grave. But now she has two rings: her own and a plain one made for a finger bigger than hers—but there's no one left to wear it.

-But if you try sometimes, you might find, you get what you need-

She watches the video through three times before she finally turns it off. It takes until the third time for her to really hear what he says, for her mind to absorb all that he'd tried to convey. It's not a goodbye; the man who'd made the video hadn't possessed any inkling of his destiny. But that doesn't make it any less definitive. It's no small thing to hear, all at once, the kinds of words that most people take a lifetime to say.

It's enough. It's not goodbye; maybe it's better. There's no desperation to it, no hint of sadness. It's as pure as Eddie himself, and it's the thing she's been waiting for all along, she realizes, though she didn't know how to describe it.

Iris has no idea what it cost to put that video in her hands, but that's not the only part that eludes her. She's been swimming in a sea of grief, confused, not knowing what she needed to be able to swim to shore. She has no idea that Eddie's message exists because there's someone who knows her better than she knows herself, who figured out the answer to the equation she couldn't solve.

At this exact, magic, ordinarily moment, Iris West exists in a space right between the memories of a past with a man she can never have and a future with a man who's exactly what she needs.

\---

-You can't always get what you want-

Time travel seems like the coolest thing in the world until you actually do it. It's not the danger of discovery or the awkwardness of trying to be his past self that Barry minds most. It's the problem of feeling like a ghost, like the real him is invisible because he can't effect change. It's like having the knowledge of a god and not being able to use it.

He cannot save Eddie any more than he could save his mother, and he can't warn the colleagues who have become family that their leader is their enemy. It feels like cruelty, like a scientist letting lab mice run themselves to death in a predetermined maze. His entire life is spent helping people; it is as much his destiny as it is his vocation. But this feels like the opposite, like hoarding his knowledge and not sharing it with the people who need it most.

The problem is, he's a scientist, and he trusts his team. Changing time is a terrifying risk. He forces himself to remember all the academic reasons he can't afford to say the things his heart is screaming at him to tell.

-But if you try sometimes, you might find, you get what you need-

Remembering his team's advice makes his thoughts flit over to Iris, to her supportive smile, to the warmth of her encouragement. And to her sadness. He would never expect her to forget Eddie, but it's like there's a piece missing that won't let her complete the puzzle and move beyond their life together. The goodbye was too rushed, and she needed time to process her emotions—time she never got to have.

So Barry changes something in the past after all, because the risk is worth the reward. He films a video filled with the words Iris needs to hear—words have always meant the world to her, and these are like a goodbye, but better, because they're not sad or painful.

"Barry." Iris's voice calls through his closed door.

"Come in. I thought you left a long time again." He puts his bookmark in his novel and sits up on the edge of his bed.

"I—decided to watch a couple more times, and I just wanted to say thanks for giving this to me now. It was really great timing." She stands on tiptoe and wraps her arms around his neck, and he holds her tightly for a long time.

"Good night, Barry." She leaves with a smile on her face.

He's smiling too as he gets back under his bedcovers. She has no idea that he traveled through time to bring her this video at this exact moment, but she doesn't need to know. All that matters is that it worked, that the thing he chose to change was the thing she needed most. That even if he couldn't save everyone, he could do one tiny, huge thing.

\---

-You can't always get what you want-

It's the only time in his life Joe West has ever wished he could go back in time. He's not one for flouting the laws of the universe, and he'd be thrilled to wake up one day and find that the whole idea of metahumans had mysteriously vanished into a void, never to return. He'd drive Barry to work every day. They would be father and son, working on cases, just like before.

But time is different. If he could only go back to the day Francine disappeared from rehab, he would go there, find her, put his arms around her and promise to stay close, no matter what. He would take her for a pregnancy test, hold her hand while they got the news about Wally.

And he would be a dad, no matter what happened after that. He would hold his baby son, teach a little boy to throw a football, watch his children fight and forgive each other. Barry would have a brother and a sister and a mother, even more stability than he and Iris had ever been able to give him.

Nothing is perfect, but he'd—make some things right.

-But if you try sometimes, you might find, you get what you need-

Sitting around the dinner table, looking at his three children, his wish begins to slip away. It's taken them blood, sweat, and tears to reach this moment, but they are all here, alive and well. And love is tangible in the room, like another person at the table.

Maybe, if he could change everything, it wouldn't have turned out the way he'd hoped. Nothing is perfect; nothing can be.

The present is where he lives, a present with a daughter putting herself back together, a hero son, and a boy who needs him more than he's felt needed in a long time. Identity does not come from perfection, from the absence of struggle. Iris, Barry, Wally—and Joe himself—are composites of the deep sadness and deep joy their lives have contained.

Wishing for a past that can never be is a wish that recedes, gradually, replaced in his mind by the comforting awareness of the beauty of the present in all its imperfection. A present in which each of the people at his table is exactly what the other people around it need.


	56. Alternates

Alternates

It's probably morbid or strange or somehow unhealthy to think about Earth-2. There has to be something wrong with being preoccupied by another universe where people live different lives and make different choices.

But as she lies in bed, sleepless, hugging her pillow to her chest, Iris can't help feeling envious of the other Iris West, the one who's not her. She doesn't care about the job she does or the house she owns, and she's not thinking about anything R-rated, either.

She reaches out her hand and rubs the empty side of the bed next to her. If she were the other Iris, Barry Allen would be lying there. She wouldn't have to endure insomnia alone. She could roll over and curl up against him and let his breathing and his heartbeat lull her to sleep. She knows what he sounds like when he's sleeping; she's heard him plenty of times, the soft, peaceful rhythm of his breath. And she knows how it feels to have her ear over his heart and to feel the gentle thump comforting her with its regularity—he's held her more than a few times in their lives. If she were the other Iris, she wouldn't mind not being able to sleep. She would lie contented against him, quiet and safe, feeling the beauty of every second like it's a line from a lifelong poem.

Eddie had always been playful, sunny, quick to laugh and joke when they were together, even at the most romantic moments. With Barry it would be very different. There would be a joyful solemnity to it, the shared weight of two people who have mingled years of tears and taken each other's laughter into themselves to share until it's bigger than either of them.

She closes her eyes, unable to resist the pull of her imagination. If she were the other Iris, maybe Barry would wake up and find her restless. Perhaps he would wrap his arms around her and pull her closer so that she could melt into him. She's tired of feeling singular and alone.

She doesn't want to do any of these things with her editor or with any of the other men whose eyes follow her around Jitters. Her imagination only goes to Earth-2, to a life where Barry would be taking up half of her bed. If he were here, she wouldn't mind the insomnia one bit.

She takes her cell phone off her nightstand. "Barry, are you still up?" she texts. It's 1am; there's a chance. He's been having insomnia of his own, she knows, his mind preoccupied with stopping Zoom.

"Yes. Need me?"

She smiles to herself. "Meet me at the 24-hour Waffle House."

Fifteen minutes later, she finds herself face-to-face with Barry in a Central City parking lot. "Are you ok?" He's concerned. Not like she does this all the time—or ever.

Her only answer is to hug him tightly and rest her head against his chest for a second, trying to grasp a few seconds of what she'd imagined earlier. Barry's arms close around her, just as warm and protective as she'd hoped.

"Don't let go," she murmurs. She can't resist.

When they finally break apart, she smiles. "I'm fine. I just—couldn't sleep and didn't want to be alone."

"I needed this too," he answers, nodding seriously. Neither of them has had time for much fun lately. The world has gotten too big and too threatening.

"Remember when we used to come here in high school?" Iris asks as they walk into the small, brightly-lit restaurant.

"Yeah," Barry answers. "Thought we were cool—studying for finals all night at Waffle House."

She laughs. "Yeah, it wasn't even cool enough for my dad to have a problem with it."

The only people at tables are a couple of night-shift cops. The CCPD force likes to come in and mainline the cheap coffee for fuel. They look up and wave, and Iris says hi while Barry claims a table in the back corner.

As she walks across the sticky floor, it occurs to Iris to wonder if they have Waffle House on Earth-2. It's a little hard to imagine it, given the gloss and sheen of that earth as Barry described it. She takes her place across from him and meets his eyes, and a grin breaks across his face.

There is another place, Iris realizes, where they almost certainly have Waffle House—a place called the future. If she were future Iris, maybe she'd be sitting across from Barry in a Waffle House, but there would be a sleepy kid on his lap, wondering why her crazy mom and dad wanted pancakes in the middle of the night. He would be a good father.

"Iris, are you sure you're ok?" Barry's voice pulls her out of her own head.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I was just thinking about the future." No harm in admitting that—she doesn't have to tell him the specifics.

He puts his hand across the table and squeezes hers for a second. "I don't want you to worry. I'm going to stop Zoom. I won't let anything happen to you or to Joe or Wally. You're going to have the future you deserve. I won't let anybody take that away."

The future you deserve. She doesn't know about that, but there's a future she's starting to want more than anything. She doesn't care about their jobs or the house they'd live in. She just wants to watch the man across from her go gray at his temples and play with their children on a swingset in the backyard. She wants to get old holding hands with the man who's holding her hand now.

"I know, Barry," she hears herself say, "I believe in you." She doesn't say it aloud, but she really means, "in us."

\---

Earth-2's Barry Allen has no powers. If he did, he'd give them up in a heartbeat to save Wally West, even if he didn't know him. That's just one of the thoughts that passes through Barry's head as he thinks through his decision. Something changed inside him when he met that other Barry, when he saw that kind of gentle selflessness. It had been like seeing a version of himself reflected in a mirror—not a perfect one, but one that, in spite of not being The Flash, was a hero in ways he hadn't yet attained.

That Barry, the kind one with the nervous manner and the round glasses, was the one who already had Iris West sharing his life and his bed. That was the strange part. Of course, she was Iris from another earth, but she wasn't so different from the one Barry knows.

He's always known Iris loves him—like a brother and a friend. He's dreamed of her loving him as more, but he'd thought that would entail always being stronger, cooler, the least weak or nervous or imperfect version of himself.

But Earth-2 Iris didn't marry The Flash. She married a thin, anxious scientist who wears small, round glasses and can't run around the block as fast as Barry can run around the city. And it doesn't even matter. When Iris looks at him, her eyes fill with absolute adoration, like she's looking at her own private version of Michaelangelo's David. It's as plain as the nose on his face that she loves him for his kind heart, his gentleness, the selfless way he risks everything, not only for his wife, but also for the people of their city. He's not a metahuman; that doesn't mean he isn't a hero.

Barry figures he's kind of slow on the uptake when it comes to the girl who grew up next door to him, the one who's really very much like the detective from Earth-2. She likes the idea of the Flash, but that's not what she cares about. All his life, he's worked hard to be good at everything to impress her, to look cooler than he really is, and to show her that he can be powerful and confident. But he knows the truth now—she never cared about any of that. Like the Iris in Earth-2, what she cares about is the contents of his heart—kindness, selflessness, gentleness, the things that make someone a hero far beyond superpowers.

He doesn't choose to sacrifice his powers to save Wally just because of Iris, but when he thinks about her Earth-2 double, his momentary fear that she'll no longer be proud of him if he's only an ordinary man evaporates. She's always loved him the way he is. To be worthy of her, he doesn't need to be faster or cooler or less fearful. She cares about bravery in the face of fear and selflessness in the face of temptation.

As he prepares to give away his most prized possession, Barry hopes he's becoming a little more like the Barry from the other earth, the one who's so much of a hero in his wingtips and his waistcoats that he won the heart of Iris West.

When it comes down to it, it's obvious—Detective Iris West loves her husband because he's a good man. That's what Barry desperately hopes the Iris from his own earth will see in him. It's what she's cared about all along.

\---

"Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends."

It's always been Joe's favorite Bible text. Reminds him of being a cop, of his oath to make everyone in Central City his friend by giving his life if called upon to do so. He's always seen it as physical life; now he knows it can mean something more.

Barry has a life most people couldn't even dream of possessing. Power, ability, the potential to effect change wherever he desires. And he's holding it out, freely, willing to give it all up for a brother who's civil at best. They haven't learned to be family yet. But love transcends feelings.

"Bear," Joe had once asked him, sitting beside him on the living room stairs, "what was Barry like—the one from the other earth?" He'd put his hand on his son's shoulder and left it there.

"He was—a good guy, Joe. He didn't have powers, but he was willing to give up everything to stop Zoom and protect the city and Iris. He didn't hesitate to risk it all. I wish I could be more like him, to be honest."

Joe had smiled and wrapped his arm tightly around his son's thin shoulders. "You risk your life to save this city almost every day."

"It's different," Barry had rejoined. "I take risks because I know I'm powerful enough to stop criminals and metahumans—because I have powers. He risked everything he was, without powers."

"Well, son, if it came down to it, you'd do the same thing. I know my Barry Allen."

Joe had received a nod in return. "I hope so."

"I know so," he'd reiterated. "I know my kid." His kid. The day Barry stopped being his kid would have to be the day he stopped breathing. Until then, he would always be a father.

Fatherhood now means heart-bursting pain, as he imagines, over and over on repeat, what's happening to Wally. But it also means heart-bursting pride, because the kid he snatched from the jaws of the system, the one who used to cry like he was never going to stop, who was terrified of the dark—that kid is strong enough to give up the most important thing in his life.

"You know what you said about the Barry from Earth-2?" Joe asks once it's all over, once Wally is back, safe and sound under the covers in his room in his father's house. Barry nods. He's clearly drained and sad, confused about what the future will bring. "He may be a good guy, but nobody could have been more of a hero than you were today."

The cop gives his surrogate son a long, warm, thankful hug before he goes upstairs to check on Wally. The younger West is lying in bed on his side, but his eyes are open, and he still has his lamp on. Joe sits on the bed next to him. He's not dumb enough to ask if his son is all right. Of course not, not yet. He just puts out a hand and rests it on Wally's shoulder. "Hey, Son. Really glad you moved in, especially tonight."

Wally looks at him very steadily for a few seconds. "While Zoom had me, I kept thinking about all those things I said to you and Iris, about how I acted like I didn't want to know you or be part of the family. I thought I wasn't ever going to see you again, and those sounded like the dumbest things in the world. I just wanted time—to tell you I'm sorry I wasn't the son you deserve, like Barry.

Joe shakes his head, feeling frustrated. "Wally, I hope this is the last time I have to tell you—you and Barry are both my sons; you're different people, and I don't compare you. I understand why it's been hard for you, losing your mom, meeting me, getting to know your sister. Anybody would have been upset."

He suddenly feels a hand grasp his. "I love you."

"I love you too," Joe answers, feeling his insides contract. "And I'm grounding you."

"Huh?" Wally's eyes open wide. "I'm way too old for that."

"I mean it, Wally," Joe answers, grinning. "The CCPD is going to tell work and school that we need you to help with the investigation, but after we debrief you, you're not allowed to do anything that isn't fun for the next week. No work, no papers, no homework. I expect you to do nothing but have a good time. Understand? You need some time to process what happened and get your bearings back."

Wally laughs. "Thanks, Dad."

"All right," Joe says, getting up. "Get some sleep, kid." Just in time, he notices that Wally is half-sitting up, leaning in for a hug. He puts his arms around his son and holds on tightly before he leaves the room.

Trust is an interesting thing, Joe thinks. Getting Barry's trust had taken ages and been a gradual process. With Wally, all the fighting had happened at the very beginning, and now he's become like a wide-open book that wants to be filled with all the love and care that can fit on the pages.

As he leaves the room, Joe thinks of Iris, satisfied that she's safe and sound, but he can't help also thinking about the other Iris—his little girl in Earth-2 who has no father any more. They say she's not really his, that she's a different daughter of a different father, but it doesn't make any sense to him. She's still Iris, and he wishes he could go give back that hug Barry had delivered from her.

But she has Barry. Neither version of Barry Allen has powers now, but they're both heroes. The Iris on Earth-2 is a lucky woman, and Joe can't wait for the day when his own Iris sees what she has, too.


	57. Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It can be hard to realize that what you want isn't what you have now or what you used to have—it's something else entirely, something new

Normal

"Dad, is it ever going to be normal around here again?"

Iris is perched on her father's knee, with her back against his stomach, reading a Boxcar Children book. She's hardly had even a few minutes without Barry around since he moved in, but for once, he asked to go to the park with somebody—another science club kid from school—and her dad was so happy Barry had asked to do something fun that he'd said yes right away.

As a result, Iris finds herself alone with her father, a luxury she hasn't had for a while. She doesn't usually mind being with Barry, but there are things she can't discuss in front of him, things about him.

"Well." Her dad puts his arm around her protectively. "It depends on what you mean by normal, Baby. If you mean is it ever going to be like before, when it was just me and you, then no, Barry's here to stay, and that means some things will always be different."

Iris sets her book down on the sofa and turns a little so she can rest her head on her father's chest. "That's not what I mean. I like having Barry here. It's just hard when he's so—mad, and then he won't talk, and then sometimes I can hear him crying in his room, but he won't let me come in. I hate it, Dad." She pours everything out at once, surprising herself with how upset she actually is.

The little girl closes her eyes and breathes deeply, letting her frustration evaporate into her father's soothing hug. "Iris, the reason I took Barry in is because I knew you and I were his best shot at normal. But it's not going to happen all at once. You remember when he came here?" Iris nods against him. "He didn't crack a smile for three weeks, and then one day, you asked him to help you with your science homework, and he actually grinned. I couldn't breathe for a couple of seconds. And then after that, he didn't laugh for a few more weeks, until you two were watching that Animaniacs cartoon. I was doing the dishes. I heard both of you cracking up in here, and I almost dropped a plate."

Iris smiles as her dad puts his hands around her face. "Baby, the three of us are making a new normal. For you and me, it's not that hard. But for him? Finding normal is the hardest thing he's ever going to have to do. But he's going to make it, because we're going to help him, and we're not going to give up. You got it?"

"Yes, Sir." Iris nods, serious and resolute. She's unstoppable when she has a mission.

Her father kisses her forehead and then settles her against him again. "I promise, Iris, one day you'll realize that we have our own normal together—you, me, and Barry. You won't know when it happens, but then you'll realize it's there." He brushes his hand across her cheek, and they both fall silent, snuggling, enjoying their peaceful time together.

—-

Iris meets her dad at Jitters, sitting opposite him at a table in the corner. "You ok, Dad? We got Griffin. Things are actually fine for the moment."

Joe nods. "Wally's at a night class, Barry needed some time to himself to collect his thoughts about what happened, and I just wanted to see my baby girl."

She shakes her head. "It still feels so—weird—that all Barry wants is to stop being normal. I remember when normal seemed like the best place to be."

Her dad puts his hand on top of hers and smiles at her. "I know what you mean, Iris. I still remember the first time I grounded him because he actually dared to directly disobey me. I could hardly hide how glad I was that he was comfortable enough to push me. I used to love to listen to the two of you doing your homework every night—day in and day out. Just being a family. Normal was a great thing for a long time."

"And then my best friend turned into a superhero." Iris smiles, but her eyes suddenly fill with tears. "I loved our normal."

Her father holds onto her hand gently. "Baby, have you thought about the fact that maybe you're not sad and confused because you want to get back to something you had before? It can be hard to realize that what you want isn't what you have now or what you used to have—it's something else entirely, something new."

Iris locks eyes with her dad. She doesn't say what they both know he's talking about. There's no need for words. "I—need to think about that," she finally answers.

"Good girl," he says.

She takes his hand and holds it against her face, like she did when she was a little girl. "Dad, how did you get so wise?"

"That's easy," he answers, laughing. "I had to raise two complicated kids."

By the time she's hugging her dad goodbye, Iris has her answer. It's not about going back to the days when Barry was her foster brother down the hall, or the days of being the Flash's best friend. Like her father realized, a long time before she did, she wants something entirely different, an entirely new kind of normal.

\---

The punches are flying, faster than twelve-year-old Barry can even count. He can't land a single hit in the middle of the barrage. When it's finally over and his tormentors have run off, he limps dejectedly to the place where he always meets Iris and waits for Joe's car.

"Barry, what happened?" His best friend looks horrified.

He just shrugs. "It's ok. I can take a punch." He's a top-of-the-class nerd, and his dad is in jail. He's taken plenty of punches, and he's sure he'll take plenty more. It's normal, just how things are in his world.

"Son, who did that to you?" Joe asks as soon as he pulls up.

Barry shakes his head. "Just some guys."

That afternoon, the cop starts teaching Barry how to defend himself. He's not really a natural, and he takes a lot more punches before the time, eight months later, when somebody tries to knock him down outside the library and he evades the punch and knocks them down instead.

It's a small victory, but it's big to him. He doesn't want to fight, but he stops being afraid that he might have to. He has a new normal.

—

Barry Allen is taking crushing punches. It's been a long time since he took hits without using his powers to fight back and even longer since he was without the self-defense skills that enabled him to mount a defense using his normal strength.

But there's a difference between letting someone hit you and being too weak to fight back. He doesn't have powers, but he could fight. Instead, he lets Griffin Grey use him as a punching bag, remembering what it felt like to be the little boy who didn't have a choice.

"It's ok, kid," he whispers to himself. "We're not weak any more." Sometimes strength is letting yourself lose, temporarily, to serve a higher purpose; that's what sacrifice is all about.

Of course, the people of a city who don't know the real name of their hero can't thank him beyond newspaper editorials and general comments on the nightly news. No one can tell him what his sacrifices mean to them.

Except for Wally West, the one citizen of Central City who won't take no for an answer or let The Flash go unthanked.

As he stands on a roof and hears his foster brother's sincere words, Barry feels tears well up in his eyes. Wally isn't thanking him for taking Griffin Grey's punches, for making himself go back to his old, ugly normal, but it kind of feels like he is. At least, it kind of makes up for the pain, both physical and emotional.

Most metahumans have the selfish instinct, the burning desire to use their powers to do the evil things they couldn't accomplish as normal humans. For very few, new normal means something different, something selfless. Wally doesn't realize it, but that's what he's thanking Barry for—for being that kind of metahuman.

Sometimes being The Flash means running up buildings and astonishing a whole city. Other times, it just means taking a punch. And that's ok, because being a hero is Barry Allen's normal.

\---

"I don't know why you worry about me so much. I'm not even your freaking kid!" Barry is stormy, angry, bouncing up and down with rage in his high-top sneakers.

Joe looks down at him and shakes his head. "You were my kid the minute you moved into my house, and worrying about my kids is what I do. That's why you've gotta call me if you're going to stay late at school or go to somebody's house. "

The twelve-year-old just stares at him, but it's clear that his anger is dissipating. "I—don't want you to worry about me," he says weakly.

"Why not?" Joe asks, wondering to himself if he's ever going to find the end of Barry Allen's emotional complications.

"I'm not worth it," the little boy says very softly, staring at the floor of the entrance to the West house. "I'm just me."

The cop has no idea how to deal with this, how to untangle all the complicated thoughts and memories that could have prompted those feelings, so he simply reaches out and pulls the little boy close, wrapping an arm around his thin shoulders and holding Barry against his front. "Son," he says softly, "I was concerned about you the minute I started working on your case, and when I became your guardian, it turned into a full-time job. You've always been worth it to me. Worrying about you all the time—it's normal."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was staying late," Barry mumbles dutifully.

Joe gives him a pat on the back and lets him go. "It's ok, Bear. You're worth the worry." He reiterates it, hoping it will stick.

—

"Hey, Joe." Barry comes home a couple of hours after Joe gets back from having coffee with Iris.

"You ok, Son?" The cop pats the sofa next to him, and Barry sits down, leaning back and yawning.

"Yeah, I'm good. A little sore from the punching, since I don't heal so fast any more."

Joe shakes his head. "I was really worried about you. It looked brutal."

Barry sits up straight and gives him a serious look. "That's what you said when I woke up after I was struck by lightning. You hugged me, and you said I'd really worried you."

"That's right," Joe answers, not understanding why the kid is bringing that up now, but not having any trouble remembering what he's talking about. Every detail of the day Barry came out of his coma is burned into his memory forever.

"I'm sorry, Joe. I know you're concerned for me every time I go out as The Flash, every time I save somebody, and I wish you didn't have to be. I wish you could let it go."

"Do you really?" Joe's EQ is off the charts, and he feels ambivalence radiating off Barry, mixed feelings the kid doesn't seem to realized he has.

Finally, Barry takes his right hand and rubs the back of his neck and hair, a sure sign that he's feeling shy. He drops his head and talks to the carpet like he's twelve again, blushing. "No, I guess—I like knowing there's somebody concerned about me every time I go out. I didn't know I felt that way. It seems—childish."

Joe laughs and pats his surrogate son's shoulder. "No, Bear, I reckon wanting somebody to worry about what happens to you is the most normal thing about you." After a moment, he adds. "I'm not the only one, you know. There's a girl who used to live here who cares quite a bit about that too."

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Barry grinning.


	58. Full Grown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being a man is about feeling fear and doing the right thing anyway. It's about taking responsibility.

Full Grown

Iris looks at Barry Allen, and she doesn't see a little boy any more. Oh, sure, he's an amalgamation of his life, of all the years they've spent together, but he's far more than the shy kid who moved his comic books into the room next door to hers.

He's not just a hero, either. That can be a hollow term, something to hide behind. The Flash is an identity, a part he takes on. It's not the essence of who he is.

Back when she'd heard his voice say he loved her, had always loved her, she'd heard the words as if they were coming from her childhood best friend. He'd still been uncertain then, unsure of his identity and his place in the world.

But Iris's life is different now. She sees herself as a woman between worlds, surrounded by an Iris on another Earth and an Iris in an unknown future. Those other Irises in their other lives have one thing in common—the man she sees in front of her.

Barry has changed at the same time she has. Her concept of the universe has expanded until anything seems possible. For Barry, what has changed is his view of himself. He's not a lost little boy any more. He's a man who knows who he is.

Somehow, with the city in chaos and everything at stake, Iris finally sees things as they are. She is not the sister of a half-formed brother. She is the destiny of a full-grown man.

\---

Barry has three fathers: Joe West, who raised him; Henry Allen, who gave him life; and Harrison Wells, who has parented the scientist in him. He's needed them all; if even one of them hadn't existed, The Flash wouldn't be alive. They have each saved his life in different ways.

As he contemplates his choice, a choice that could save the world or end his life, Barry stands above the three of them, like a tragic hero looking down at a Greek chorus.

Harry, the scientist, is adamant. Objective. Nothing else can be done but to forge ahead, to take the risk. He's the Wells from Earth-2, but Barry remembers reading the autobiography of the one from Earth-1, of idolizing him, and this version is no less brilliant. The child in him feels the pull toward the logical answer offered by the man whose mind he deeply respects.

Henry, his father from behind glass, is no less passionate about the opposite view. Little Barry, child Barry, would have soaked up his protectiveness like rain on parched earth. And even now, he feels warm in the sunshine of his father's care for his wellbeing.

Finally, Joe, the man who raised him, gives his usual balanced advice, aware of both sides, wanting to be part of the decision. He's always hated to watch his children make tough decisions on their own. Even if he can't make the choice, he's always tried to help as much as he can.

But it is Barry Allen who stands on the platform above the three men who have fathered him, and he finally realizes the truth: He is a man now, full-grown, and that means his fate is in his own hands. Each of the well-meaning men below him can offer their perspectives and their wisdom, but the decision is not theirs to make.

When all is said and done, Barry finds himself strapped into a machine, waiting to be reborn or to die. His decision, maybe for the first time in his life, is entirely his own.

He does not say yes because of the logical mind of the man who taught him about his power.

He does not say yes to spite the man who helped make him and wants to keep him safe.

He does not say yes for the sake of the man whose nurturing helped him survive.

He says yes because he knows himself, and he knows it's the right thing to do. He no longer needs a father to make the decision for him. It's not that he's unafraid. Being a man is about feeling fear and doing the right thing anyway. It's about taking responsibility..

Barry has three fathers. They have helped him grow and shaped his life. But he's finally ready to square his shoulders and become the man he was always meant to be.

\---

Joe is satisfied. It's not that he wants his deeply-loved surrogate son to be put in danger, to hurt, to potentially be wrenched away from him again. But he can see the change. He can see that the eyes looking out of Barry's face are no longer the eyes of a lost little boy trying to understand how to be a hero.

No, the pain of realizing there's nothing he can do to make Barry's choice easier is met by an equally powerful feeling of gratification. Barry doesn't need him, not at this moment. He's strong enough, finally, to make his own choice.

Maybe that's what parenthood boils down to—raising a child to the point of no longer needing you for every decision, finding out one day that you've shaped a full-grown person into existence.

Joe's heart pounds in fear as his son prepares for his sacrifice, but there is satisfaction mingled with the trepidation. Barry is not risking his life at anyone else's behest. His choices are fully his own, the property of a man.


	59. The Constant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She can't forget grasping his hand, holding on, feeling her presence pull him back from the dark within.

The Constant

"Barry, Barry, Barry!"

She stands beside his bed, like a black-tressed, ghostly angel in her white pajamas. She doesn't sense her own strength; she only feels his pain, the pain radiating from him as he experiences another nightmare, his mind no doubt making another visit to the night he lost his mother.

Barry's body makes waves and mountains out of the covers, thrashing around, deep into the kind of sleep that resists waking. Iris could get her father, but she doesn't want to. He already loses sleep at the side of Barry's bed every night. Finally, she reaches out, unsure, afraid that if she touches him too forcefully, he'll awaken even more frightened than he already is. Hand extended, she reaches for the left hand peeking out from under his bedspread, wrapping her fingers around his, gently, tentatively.

He doesn't awaken, but gradually, he settles. She feels his hand tighten around hers, and he pulls it closer, so close she has to stand with the front of her legs touching the side of the bed. His breathing evens out as holds her hand against the side of his cheek.

She feels his eyelashes against the back of her hand, fluttering like butterfly wings. Soft and light. They say that boys are strong and tough, but Barry is neither of these things. She does not need him to be what she already is.

After a long time, when her legs are beginning to feel like lead weights, she lets go, extricating her fingers one by one, relieved when he doesn't move or open his eyes. Iris goes back to her own room as quietly as she can, gliding on slippered feet.

The next morning, Barry doesn't remember that he had a nightmare, and it feels like a dream to Iris, too, except for the feeling. She can't forget grasping his hand, holding on, feeling her presence pull him back from the dark within.

She looks down at her own hand, marveling at its power. At her power.

\---

Barry sits on the couch in her apartment, watching her walk around on slippered feet, his own disheveled angel. "Come back. I don't care about coffee." He grins at her back, and she stops in the middle of pouring water into the Keurig to turn and roll her eyes.

"You're the one who asked for after-dinner espresso," she says.

"I know," he answers, "but it's taking so long, and I just got done missing you."

She turns back around to finish, but not before he catches a smirk at the corner of her mouth. "I'll be right there, Mr. Allen."

Within a couple of minutes, she's back with mugs of espresso, but he takes them both, puts them carefully on the coffee table, and pulls her down next to him. "Iris, Iris, Iris," he whispers, coiled up in the corner of the couch so that he can hold as much of her as possible with as much of himself as possible. She leans against him, and he feels her breath against his neck, soft and light.

"I'm here," she answers, holding him as tightly as he's holding her. "But I'm still amazed that you're here." She looks up, and he meets her eyes. "I—don't know how you had the strength to make yourself come back from there—from your mom, the Speed Force, you know what I mean." He hears a tremor in her voice, uncertainty.

He smiles. "It was—beautiful there. They even had a version of you. But it wasn't the real thing. It wasn't home. I think heaven is only home when it's your time, Iris. When I heard your voice and felt your hand, I knew my real home was here. It was—" he hesitates, trying to explain what he hardly understands—"It was familiar, like we'd done it all before, a long time ago."

Iris breathes deeply, and he feels her shiver against him. "Barry, do you remember the last time you ever had a nightmare?"

He shakes his head, confused. "No, it seemed like they just stopped after a while."

She sits up and faces him, tracing his jawline with her finger, smiling into his eyes. "The Speed Force knew you a long time ago, Barry Allen. When you were a kid, one night, the last night you had a nightmare. I—I pulled you back. I didn't understand it, but I felt it just like I did today, like it chose me—to be the one to bring you home. I was stronger than I'd ever been before."

Barry kisses her, gently, his hands on the sides of her face, before answering. "Iris, there's a lot I don't know about the Speed Force, but one thing I do know is that it doesn't put things into you that aren't there. It chose you, back then, because you've always been the one who means home to me."

\---

Barry comes in late; Joe isn't surprised. He used to know where the little boy went when he disappeared; he still knows, but this time, instead of an abandoned house filled with painful memories, he's at the house where Iris lives. The place he should be.

Still, Joe stays up. It's a father's privilege, no matter how old his children are.

"Joe."

"Son."

Barry smiles, and it's the smile of a little boy, tired but unfettered by worry and pain. Joe hasn't seen that smile for a long time, and he's seen it very few times in his life. "I saw Iris and my dad, Joe. He says he's sticking around, and Iris—she's—" It's obvious he's fumbling for words.

"She's the one," Joe finishes for him. "None the rest of us could have pulled you out of that Speed Force. Just her. It's always been like that with you and her." Joe West may not understand everything about metahumans, time travel, and alternate universes, but he understands people.

"You were there too, Joe, in the Speed Force. They—it—I don't know—whatever it is, it knew you were the one I needed to see when I woke up there. You've always been the one who helped me cope with change."

"Well," Joe replies drily, "you may have to help me cope with the change of you and Iris actually being together." He gets up from his couch and yawns. "Come here." He opens his arms and waits for Barry to dive into them before wrapping him up tightly, the way he did the day his surrogate son came out of a lightning-induced coma, a lifetime ago.

"Barry," he says softly, "I'm glad you came home, and I'm not talking about a place. I'm talking about her."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big part of the reason that it's taken me this long to update this story is that I was flummoxed-in a good way-by Runaway Dinosaur. A lot of fanfiction that I write is either corrective (for shows that [to me] that need some help resolving plot) or to fill in missing pieces (for this show). Most of this story has been the latter, about filling in missing links and character moments to hopefully enrich the experience of enjoying the show itself. As a result, it's taken me a very long time to decide how to approach an episode that was, in my opinion, self-contained, nearly perfect, and a complete work of art. After a long while, it came to me-what stays in my mind from Runaway Dinosaur is the classic dilemma, the idea of the hero who is confronted with an idea of paradise but has an even more compelling reason to return to real life, with all of its mess and pain. It's Odysseus leaving Calypso's island to return to Penelope in The Odyssey, the sacrifice of comfort and safety for true love and heroic destiny. I hope you enjoyed :)


	60. Fathers and Sons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yeah,” comes the soft answer, just like it used to, except now there are no unknown monsters and shadowy nightmares to make a little boy afraid of the dark. Now there’s just pain, the real thing, with no shadows to cover it.

Fathers and Sons

Iris West visits Henry Allen on a dark Thursday morning in winter. She’s never been to Iron Heights, but with a cop dad, she knows the prison’s visiting hours well. It’s not one of Barry’s days; he goes on the weekends. She’s eighteen, a senior, getting ready to graduate. Her hair is in a no-nonsense ponytail, and she’s wearing an oversized sweater and boots against the chill. 

“Iris West.” She hands her driver’s license to a guard and goes through a metal detector. They will know she’s Joe West’s daughter, but it doesn’t matter. She waited until now, until she reached eighteen, so that she could stand up to him if he finds out, tell him that she’s an adult with a right to see her surrogate brother’s father.

“Iris.” Dr. Allen’s face lights up as soon as he sees her through the bulletproof glass, phone held to his ear like he’s done this a hundred times. He looks much older than when she last saw him, seven years before. His face has countless more lines, but there’s kindness in his eyes.

“Dr. Allen,” she answers, uncertain how to proceed, more nervous than she’d anticipated. 

“You’re—Barry tells me you’re graduating in the spring and going to college. I can’t believe you kids are this old already.” He shakes his head and chuckles softly. It’s just like a conversation with a friend’s parent over a cup of coffee, except he’s in an orange jumpsuit, and she feels the eyes of the Iron Heights guards drilling into her. 

Iris clears her throat and looks straight into his eyes. “I came here to tell you something. I want you to know I believe in you, just as much as Barry does. I don’t know when or how, but I want help him bring you home.”

The man in front of her just smiles gently. “Iris, the best thing you can do for me is to keep being my son’s best friend.”

She nods “Of course. I always will be.”

A guard taps her lightly on the shoulder. “Time’s up, Miss West.”

“Goodbye, Dr. Allen,” she says quickly.

“I’m Henry to you,” he replies. “And Iris, thank you for taking care of Barry.”

Leaving Iron Heights is a blur because she has tears in her eyes at the wistful look on the father’s face when he thanked her for caring for his son. It’s not right. She wouldn’t give up her years with Barry for anything, but the reason they happened is shattering to contemplate. It’s probably good she’s never been to the prison before, she thinks. She can barely handle the ache she feels.

Surprisingly, when she gets home, she doesn’t find an angry Joe West. Instead, her father comes out of the kitchen with a smile on his face. “Heard you made a visit to Iron Heights.” She doesn’t bother to ask how he knows. She’s sure someone called him, probably as soon as they saw her ID.

“That was a nice thing to do, Baby.” He hugs her, and he doesn’t ask any questions, and she soaks up his affection, thinking about how lucky she is to have a father she can touch.

Iris waits until Barry’s fall break visit home from college a week later to tell him about Iron Heights. They’re in her room, sitting on her bed and flipping through old comics.

“Barry, this is the one you gave me when you moved in.” She shows him a worn out Superman issue.

Her surrogate brother grins. “I was so nervous, but you made me feel at home.”

“I was nervous too,” she admits. 

“I’m going to see my dad tomorrow,” Barry segues, and she figures this is as good a time as any to tell him.

“I went to see him last week,” she says. 

“Yeah?” Barry asks. “Was your dad upset?”

She shakes her head. “No, he seemed to get it. I just wanted your dad to know that I believe in him, but all he cared about was making sure you’ll always have a family.” 

Barry rubs his eyes quickly. Iris recognizes his telltale gesture when he’s trying not to cry. “I miss him so much,” he says. “You’d think maybe we’d get further apart after all these years, but I love him more than ever.”

Iris puts her hand on top of his for a second. “I wish I could bring him home.”

———

Barry lays his head on his father’s shoulder, just like he did when he was six years old and too tired to stay awake. It doesn’t matter that he’s a grown man. All that matters is that his father is whole and free next to him, promising to stay, promising to make up for all the lost years. This. This is what he’s craved for so many years.

But that feeling, that warm sense of safety, doesn’t just come from childhood memories of Henry Allen. He has a head full of memories of warm arms pulling him close—when he was happy, when he was angry, when he needed comforting. Joe West’s arms, solid and safe, even when he didn’t deserve them. He has always been held, literally and metaphorically.

Maybe that’s why he knows how to be a son, why it comes so naturally to fall into step with the man he could only speak to across plexiglass for fifteen years. He just wants to soak up every single moment of the present, to hold onto the man who shares his DNA. 

“I love you, Dad.” They neither one move for a long time.

“I love you, Son.” For just a little bit, Barry Allen lets himself feel like he’s not grown up at all, and it’s all right. 

——-

Joe is walking the upstairs hallway of his house when he hears sobbing. Like an invisible time machine, he’s transported back over a decade, to the days when he used to hear a troubled little boy crying in the middle of the night.

“Bear?” He taps on the door but goes in without being invited. He wouldn’t normally breach the privacy of his adult sons, but this is a desperate time.

He finds Barry in bed, facing the wall, curled into himself, crying for his father the way he used to cry for his mother. In the dark, Joe sees the little boy in the young man, and just like he used to do, he sits on the edge of the bed and starts putting his hand through Barry’s hair and speaking softly.

“‘I’m here, Son. I’m not going anywhere.” There is nothing he can say to make it better. His own mind is haunted by the memory of Barry saying “I can’t lose my dad.” He would do anything to have died in Henry Allen’s place.

The script diverges here. For a long time, the little boy, untrusting and angry, used to stay silent and cry himself to sleep, not giving Joe the satisfaction of acknowledging his presence or letting him give comfort. But Barry is not that little boy any more. Slowly, he turns over and looks up at Joe, and his surrogate father sees unspeakable, confused pain in his eyes.

“Come here,” he says. It wouldn’t have worked on the little boy, but the young man sits up enough to fall into Joe’s arms. “Bear,” Joe says softly, “I promised your father I’d take care of you a long time ago, and I’ll keep that promise, no matter what happens.” He holds on tightly and feels his son’s breathing gradually steady against him. Joe’s own tears wet his son’s hair, and they cry together. 

“I need to be up fighting,” Barry says after a while, still weeping.

“No,” says Joe, “you need to rest, or you won’t be fighting anybody.” 

Barry’s head nods against his shoulder.”Ok,” he acquiesces, tired beyond belief. 

“Son, do you want me to stay here until you fall asleep?” 

“Yeah,” comes the soft answer, just like it used to, except now there are no unknown monsters and shadowy nightmares to make a little boy afraid of the dark. Now there’s just pain, the real thing, with no shadows to cover it.

As if by the choreography of years past, Barry slips back into bed and Joe pulls the quilt up around his son’s shoulders. He doesn’t see a superhero; he just sees an orphan who needs a father. The younger man holds out his hand, and Joe takes it, hanging on until Barry drifts off and he can let go without waking him. 

Joe doesn’t get up for ages. One hour, maybe two, maybe more. He sits on the edge of Barry’s bed, slumped forward, head in his hands. He wants to be there if Barry wakes up again, needs him again.

“I did my best before, Henry. I’ll do my best again,” he says to himself. It’s the most he can promise to a good man gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that while Barry and Iris are the same age, in this story I had Barry graduate early and start college before Iris.


	61. Destined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She doesn't hear him whisper "I'll find you" to her back as she walks away, and if she knew what he was doing, she wouldn't believe him.

Destined

It's like being kissed by Professor X, that time when he wipes Agent McTaggert's memory.

It's probably cheesy; Iris has never cared. She has always cried every time they watched, and Barry would ask her why. It was a happy ending; it was fine; everyone was happy.

But she would look at him with tears streaming down her face. "She doesn't remember who he is, Barry. He didn't even give her a choice. That's the worst thing that could ever happen; it's worse than dying." Moira is happy because she doesn't know what she's missing. That has never stopped chilling Iris to the bone.

Barry would smile. She could always tell he thought her reaction was a little funny, a little over the top. But he never liked to see her cry, so he would put his arm around her and let her wipe her eyes on his shirt, and he tried to make her rent the new movies when they came out.

"Come on," Barry would always say, "He's gonna fix it in a minute." But she never watched the rest of the movies; she couldn't bear to. That beautiful, terrible moment stayed with her.

That's why Barry's kiss scares her. It's beautiful, but it's a kiss in the middle of grief and pain and confusion. And she suddenly feels like Moira, almost surprised when she pulls back and nothing has changed.

Except everything has. She can't see into the mind behind his tortured eyes and know that he's decided to take the most precious thing in the world away from her, that when it's gone she'll be happy because she won't know what's missing. She doesn't hear him whisper "I'll find you" to her back as she walks away, and if she knew what he was doing, she wouldn't believe him.

\---

"Come on, watch the next one with me." Barry remembers trying to get teary-eyed Iris to watch the rest of the X-Men movies with him about a hundred times, but she never would.

"Don't you get it?" she would ask. "He thinks he's keeping her safe, but this is worse than being in danger." In the end, he would just give her a hug and let her cry and promise to never watch that movie again—until the next time, when they both wanted a Magneto fix.

Finally, when they'd both seen it enough times to quote it, he'd dared to argue with his best friend. As always, Iris's eyes had started welling up toward the end of the movie, but before she'd started crying, Barry had hit pause.

"I think you're wrong about this scene."

"What?" Iris was so surprised that her mild-mannered friend was being argumentative that she'd stopped the progression from wet eyes to full-on crying.

"The thing is, Professor X and Moira are meant to be together. It doesn't matter what happens. That's why it's not sad. It doesn't matter what world they're in or whether she remembers or not. She's always going to find him, no matter what. It's destiny."

"I still think it's sad," Iris had rejoined in a huffy voice. "He didn't have to do that to her."

Barry before the Flash, with his oversized sweaters and bony knees, had no idea what was coming in his future, but he'd looked over at his best friend—his, well, the girl he desperately wished could be something more—and smiled. "He wanted to keep the people he loved safe. I get it. But when people are supposed to be together, nothing can keep them apart. Not even superpowers."

They had both laughed then, but it's not funny now.

The speedster kisses the woman he loves and contemplates doing the thing he knows she would hate, the thing that would break her if she knew about it.

He does it anyway, feeling every deserved pang of guilt for his selfishness, but he has a shard of hope in his heart.

Barry Allen doesn't know what kind of world he's creating, but he knows one thing; he will find Iris there, because even time itself can't keep them apart.

\---

Joe watches out the window of his house as his surrogate son and daughter finally share their love. It's a private moment, maybe, but he can't help watching, like he's seeing the end of his very own movie. After all, Barry is a superhero, and Iris is a reporter. Doesn't get much more cinematic than that.

He's never doubted for a moment that Barry and Iris would find each other, somehow, in the middle of the pain and grief and uncertainty. That's how life is, Joe knows—along with the fragmented shards of pain come the stained glass windows of grace.

He has no idea what his surrogate son is thinking about doing, that he's about to make a young man's mistake. Joe is old enough to know that you can't fix time, that even if you could try, you'd end up putting broken glass back together but destroying the mosaic artwork that life makes out of the broken pieces.

Maybe Joe has an inkling; maybe his fatherly sixth sense means he can feel that Barry is unsettled, that this time his son's grief will drive him to do something more serious than he comprehends. But there is life beyond mistakes.

Joe has been on the earth long enough to know that even superheroes can't break destiny. For every ugly, painful welt that life and time dish out, they also serve up a huge helping of undeserved blessing—like responding to a domestic murder scene and coming home with a son.

No matter how many mistakes Barry makes and how superpowered they are, somehow, some way, he finds the path home. To Joe. To Iris. To the family destiny gave him a long time ago.

Joe doesn't know the torment in Barry's mind. All he sees are two young people in love, finally coming together the way they've always been meant to be.

He doesn't see when Barry runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm old and nerdy, so I really wanted the through-line of this chapter to be the original scene that X-Men was obviously referencing, when Superman wipes Lois's memory in Superman II. I've previously had Superman comics exist in The Flash's universe, but now that Supergirl, and by extension Superman, appear to be (probably) coming into the same universe as this show, I decided to avoid the paradox of referencing that movie in favor of X-Men: First Class, when Professor X does virtually the same thing to Moira McTaggert.
> 
> Anyway, I didn't plan to take this long to finish the companion chapters for Season 2, but I just got back from vacation in Iceland, and I didn't have time to finish until now. The first "Flashpoint" is one of my favorite graphic novels of all time, and I can't really express how totally excited I am to see what the show does with it in Season 3.


	62. Flashpoint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He feels so right, so whole, the averageness of it all washing over him like the warm summer sun.

Flashpoint

Iris has no idea how to explain it. She doesn't hear violins. The world doesn't change color. Her heart doesn't skip a beat.

No, when she sees Barry Allen, she just feels right. Safer, more like herself, steady. Filled up inside instead of hollow. There's something that even being The Flash's partner hasn't been able to fulfill inside her, a void that disappears as soon as she sees the guy whose name she can barely remember. It makes no sense, but she says yes to a date, because she's never felt anything like it before.

She reaches for his hand as if by instinct. They have no trouble talking to each other, but even more importantly, they have no trouble being silent together. It's not long before she finds herself thinking she could spend the rest of her life with this man.

Get a hold of yourself. Stop it. She tries to take herself to task, but it doesn't work. All her life, she has heard people say that when you meet the right person, you'll know. But none of them were talking about this. None of them, she's sure, were talking about suddenly feeling the gaps in your life disappear like they were never there, about feeling like you've been walking around as half yourself until you meet someone, look into their eyes, and know that you'll never be alone again.

That's why she believes the impossible, because when the impossible has already happened inside you, nothing feels as crazy any more. Who else could he be but the man she loves, in another time, in another world?

She doesn't know that she's done this before, that letting Barry go and losing their life together is more like a habit than anything else. She can't remember the other times; that's how it works. But she's not afraid, either, because if Barry could find her here, in a world that shouldn't even exist, he will find her anywhere.

\----

The first day Barry wakes up in his parents' house, he can't come downstairs right away because he hears their voices, both of their voices. He waits until his sudden tears have dried and he can find some semblance of normal before he makes the short trek to the dining room, a walk that will change everything.

They're eating breakfast, laughing, enjoying each other's company. His mother looks older than he's ever seen her, but so beautiful that he can't stop looking at her. "Good morning, Sweetheart," she says.

"Mom, can - can I have a hug?" He hesitates for a second. He knows it will seem strange to her, but the impulse is too strong.

"Of course," she says, getting up from her chair and coming around the table to where he stands in sweatpants and tousled hair. It's all he can do not to dissolve back into tears again when she wraps her arms around him and pulls him close. "I love you, my beautiful boy," she says, and he feels like he's been transported back to his childhood. Of course, he used to be small enough for her to hold all of him, but the feeling is the same.

"I love you too, Mom. So much." He hugs her back and fights the tears that keep wanting to escape.

He sits down at the table to a concerned look from his father. "You ok? Any Saturday plans?"

Barry shakes his head no. "What are you two doing?"

"Cleaning out the garage," Henry answers. "Wanna stay around for the excitement?" He's obviously joking, but Barry nods vigorously.

"Yeah - sure, I'd love to help."

"Really?" Nora smiles across the table at him. "That's really sweet of you, Barry."

It's the best day of his life. He doesn't care that he's moving boxes and waiting on his parents to decide whether to keep or toss years-old items. He helps his dad reorganize his tools and refuses to let his mother carry anything that weighs more than five pounds. He feels so right, so whole, the averageness of it all washing over him like the warm summer sun.

It's late afternoon when they're finally finished, and his mother suddenly looks at her watch. "Oh no, I've got to clean up, or I'll be late for my book club. You two can fend for yourselves for dinner, right?"

Henry grins. "I'm sure we can find a restaurant. Least we can do is take Barry out for a meal after all this help."

"Happy to do it," Barry says, grinning, before he goes inside to shower in his room in his parents' house.

Later, when he's across a restaurant booth from his father, Henry gets that concerned look again. "Are you all right, Son? We love spending time with you, but it's not like you to stay this close to home on a weekend."

"I'm fine, Dad," Barry says, meaning it, but thinking that if Henry wants to throw in a hug to make sure, he won't mind. He's not disappointed, either. They finish off burgers and a mountain of fries before heading home to catch baseball playoffs on TV. As soon as they get out of the car, before he's made it inside, Barry feels a big hand on his shoulder.

"You're a good son, Barry. Never forget that." Henry wraps him in a warm, bone-crushing hug.

"I love you, Dad," he says, not caring if he sounds sappier than usual. He can go back to normal tomorrow, whatever normal is in this world. For now he lets himself feel like a lost little boy reunited with his parents.

\--

Barry goes to sleep in Joe West's house. It's the night of his father's funeral, but he's lived three months in a day. He doesn't cry. Instead, he forces himself to focus on the memory of two people who loved him, who were proud of who he'd become. No one else remembers what happened, but he holds the other reality in his mind, and he hangs onto it for dear life. The smell of his mother's perfume, the feeling of his father's hand on his shoulder, the sense of absolute comfort that came from living in a world that was never meant to be.

He forcefully brushes away the tears that try to spill out of his eyes. He needs to focus. Things are not as they should be in this world, and it's his fault. His first and most important mission is Iris, because a world in which Joe and his daughter don't get along is a world he doesn't want to be part of. It's dissonant, out of joint, all wrong.

If he's learned anything from time travel, alternate worlds, new timelines, it's that he needs Iris West. She is his constant, his anchor, the one who always makes sure he gets home.

\-----

Joe West wishes he had the relationship with his daughter that he has with both of his sons. Sure, it hasn't always been easy. Far from it. Taking Barry in, getting to know Wally as an adult. He weathered those storms, and he has a full house and full arms to prove it.

But Iris is gone. His little girl won't speak to him, and he tries to act tough, like he's the one who's angry, but inside he's just hurt. If she'd walk through that door, he'd probably forgive her in five seconds flat, but he knows it's not going to happen.

That's why it hurts so much when Barry says her name, acts like nothing has happened, like he expects to see her. It's like a slap in the face reminding Joe of his biggest failure, biggest regret, the thing he wants to change more than anything else.

But he's terrified that it's too late.


	63. Paradox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleven-year-old Barry had picked plenty of scabs and opened plenty of cuts. And Joe had bandaged up every single one of them, even when it was Barry's fault they were bleeding.

Paradox

"Were we together - in that other timeline?"

Iris has agreed, like the others, not to ask too many questions about Flashpoint. It's weird enough to even know that something else existed, that there have been other versions of her that she will never remember. But there's a question she can't resist.

Barry turns around from contemplating his microscope. "Um, we - didn't know each other right away."

"But then?" Iris steps into the lab's doorway and crosses the space to him, glad Julian is finally gone for the day. Her heels clatter on the floor, breaking the silence of the golden hour.

As soon as she's close enough, Barry puts his hands on her waist and pulls her into him. "Then I asked you out, and you told me I was cute, so you said yes."

"Some things never change," Iris says, returning his embrace.

"You're the one who convinced everybody to forgive me, aren't you?" he asks after a few more moments of peaceful silence.

"Pretty much," Iris answers honestly. No point in beating around the bush. "They'd have all come around in the end. They love you too much not to. But I - helped things along."

"I don't understand, Iris," Barry says, holding her more tightly all of a sudden, almost like he doesn't realize he's doing it, as if he's suddenly afraid he'll lose her. "You should be angrier at me than anybody."

She doesn't have to ask what he means. If what he's said is true, there was a life she once lived, where things had been different with her mom, with her dad, with Wally. Before he'd altered all of their lives, she'd had things she'll never get back. Not remembering doesn't mean she doesn't feel loss.

Iris nods, her head against his shoulder. "I was mad at first. I was so mad I wished I had superpowers so I could throw you into a building. But I've never been any good at staying mad at you, Barry. I love you too much."

Barry's hold around her finally relaxes, and she looks up and kisses him quickly. "So I forgive you, and whatever else you need to hear to feel better. And thank you."

"For what?" he asks, sounding surprised.

"For choosing us," she answers. "For choosing this version of all of us instead of the life you could've had with your parents. I can't even imagine what that choice was like."

Barry puts his hands around her face, cradling it gently. "You helped me make it. I don't think I could have done it if you hadn't been there. I know you'll never remember, but nobody will ever convince me she wasn't really you." He kisses her, and this time it's a longer, slower kiss.

When he finally pulls back to breathe, Iris smiles. "I don't think I'll ever understand time travel and alternate universes, but no matter where you go, no matter what corner of space or time you go to, you're not getting away from me."

"Yes, ma'am," he whispers.

\---

Barry goes home in a daze, so lost in thought he walks at normal speed through the Central City streets. They look the same as the ones in Flashpoint, but he couldn't feel more different walking them. He should be glad nobody's mad at him any more - well, except Julian, and he doesn't count because he's always mad. But he just feels lost.

It's like when he was a child; Joe had always said, "Don't pick at your scab, Barry. You'll just make it worse." It's one thing to lose your parents, to have a grief wound that has to scab over and heal inside you. It's another thing to pick at that scab so hard you create three months of another world, only to have it ripped away, so that the wound feels fresh all over again.

He finally gets home, in normal time, and finds Joe alone because Wally is at night class. "You're late, Bear. Anything wrong?"

Barry shakes his head. "Nah, it's ok. At least nobody wants to kill me any more."

His surrogate dad's perceptive gaze doesn't let him go. "Your mom and dad were there, for three months." It's a statement, not a question. Barry nods and swallows hard, his mind suddenly flooding with images of happy days with his parents, making him tear up.

Barry rubs his sleeve across his eyes. "It's my own fault, Joe."

He turns away to go upstairs, to lick his wounds in private, but Joe's hand on his shoulder stops him. "You're not getting off that easy." He's hugged then, thoroughly and tightly. "That," Joe says, "is for your parents. I'm sorry you had to lose them all over again."

Eleven-year-old Barry had picked plenty of scabs and opened plenty of cuts. And Joe had bandaged up every single one of them, even when it was Barry's fault they were bleeding.

\---

As soon as Barry's safely upstairs, Joe goes to Jitters. It's later than he usually goes out, but he would do anything to meet with Iris, his daughter who's just started speaking to him after months of silence.

She's already there when he arrives, and she gets up from the table. She looks like she doesn't know if she should hug him; he doesn't know if he should hug her, either. But he's Joe West, so he does. To his relief, Iris wraps her arms tightly around him and doesn't let go for a while.

"I missed you, Baby," he says softly.

"Missed you too," she answers. "But I realized, if I can forgive Barry for what he did, I should be able to forgive you too."

Joe sits across from her. He gets a plain coffee and doesn't drink it. He's just happy to be there, to be looking at Iris, listening to her while she talks, knowing that everything is all right and his kids are safe.

"Dad," Iris says after a while, "how long have you known about Barry and I?"

Joe shrugs. "Fifteen years, give or take. I knew he had a crush on you, and then I knew you were in love with him, but you couldn't see it."

"What if it hadn't worked out?"

Joe smiles. "Just because you love someone doesn't mean you always get to be with them. That's how it was — with your mom and me. But I had faith in you two. The universe has been trying to push you and Barry Allen together for a long time."

Iris smiles. "Thanks for letting me realize it in my own time."

Joe nods. "Try to remember that, the next time you want to knock my head off."


	64. Paying Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She looked how I felt when I realized you weren't going to give up on me. Like she knows she can start trusting them."

Paying Forward

There's a photograph on the front page of the newspaper and on every single news channel in Central City. Captured by a CCPN helicopter, it's a picture of the Flash with a metahuman called Magenta, whose powers had, for a brief moment, threatened Central City.

The reason it's on the front of every news page and every screen is that the meta is a little girl, and the Flash isn't standing over her unconscious body or handing her over to be handcuffed by the police. He's holding her in his arms.

It's great publicity for Central City's resident hero, but that's not why Iris persuades her boss to give her the original. He obviously thinks it's a little weird, but once a picture is out in the open, everyone has access to it, so he hands it over to her without a lot of argument. She figures they all know she used to have a blog about the Flash. Her coworkers probably just think she's an obsessed fangirl.

She's just glad Bellamy, the photojournalist, always does high-quality prints of his photos before he'll let them be distributed. She has the perfect frame for this one. She takes it home, careful not to bend or scar it, and fits it into the Ikea frame that sits on her home desk beside her laptop.

That night, Barry comes over with takeout Chinese food. She's setting the table when he comes over with the frame in his hand. "Didn't this used to be a picture of you and Eddie?"

Iris hands him chopsticks and sits down at her small table. "Yeah, but it felt like time for a change. I'll always have my pictures of Eddie because he was an important part of my life, but I want the thing I see on my desk to be the person I love right now."

Barry takes a bite of noodles and smiles. "We could take a selfie or something, a picture of us together."

"Nah," she answers. "I like this picture. It reminds me of why I love you, because you're this kind of hero."

"I wish I could have fixed everything for her," he answers softly.

Iris reaches across the table and puts her hand on top of his. "You gave her a chance, Barry. A lot of people would have only seen her power. You saw the person behind the power, and you believing in her changed things for her."

He nods, and Iris gets back to demolishing her Lo Mein. She doesn't tell him what she's thinking, which is that he'll be a great father some day. She doesn't want to scare him to death.

\---

Barry can't resist checking on the little girl one more time. He's the Flash; he can get from home to her foster family's house in under ten minutes. He picks an average day, a Wednesday afternoon three weeks after the Magenta incident.

From out on the street, he watches a large, white house with an open porch, where an older man and woman are sitting on an outdoor sofa with Frankie between them. She's wearing what he thinks is a new sweater. It looks nicer than her hand-me-downs in Central City.

All three of them are smiling. He sticks around for a while, remembering what it had been like to be the kid in the middle of two people who had taken him in, how scary it had felt on one hand, but how comforting to realize he was genuinely loved—by someone who didn't have to care but had chosen to.

The man gets up. He's tall and silver-haired, nice looking. Caitlin said he was a retired investment banker. He pulls out a set of keys and presses the button to unlock the Buick in the driveway, leaning over to kiss his wife and then pull Frankie into a hug before he leaves.

Barry watches with satisfaction as the girl returns the hug, looking happy and calm. It's not like the bad days are over, he knows, but her face registers a level of security that gives him a warm feeling about the future.

\---

"You look happy." Joe is flipping pancakes, making breakfast for dinner. He hasn't had time to have a chat with his surrogate son all week, and he's glad to have some time alone with Barry before Iris and Wally arrive for game night.

"I went to see Frankie Kane," Barry answers.

Joe shakes his head. "We're not supposed to have contact with her after the case. You know that. It's not like you. You're usually able to move on quicker from these things."

"She didn't know I was there," Barry explains, which relieves Joe considerably. "I just watched her with her new family for a while, wanted to see what they were like."

"And?" Joe is honestly curious.

"They seem nice," Barry answers, "but the best part was how she looked."

Joe hands Barry a plate with a stack of pancakes on it. "Explain."

"She looked how I felt when I realized you weren't going to give up on me. Like she knows she can start trusting them."

Joe nods, remembering a scared little boy. "Feels good to pay it forward, doesn't it? You finally got to help somebody a little bit like you."

Barry nods. "I guess that's why I had to check on her."

Joe sets a platter of bacon on the table and puts his hand on Barry's shoulder as he passes by. "Son, if you think about how much you care about that little girl and multiply it by about a million, you might be somewhere in the ballpark of how much I care about you."

Barry doesn't answer for a long time, and when Joe gets back around to the other side of the table, he sees tears in his surrogate son's eyes. "Gosh, Joe," he finally hears, "it's still amazing to hear that, after all this time. I—still can't believe I have you and Iris and Wally. I've lost a lot, but what I have is — pretty mind-blowing."

Joe smiles. Sometimes it takes looking in the mirror — a mirror in the form of somebody else's life — to be reminded of how lucky you've been. He doesn't have to imagine very hard to know how Frankie's new parents feel. Sure, there may be some really tough days, but he knows how good it feels to help a broken kid heal.

"Frankie's parents are lucky to have her," he says, "just like I won the universe's lottery when I got you."

"Thanks, Dad." Hearing those words still makes Joe feel better than pretty much anything else ever could.


	65. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes loud, dramatic romance isn’t as important as being able to lay your head on somebody’s shoulder and know that he’s not going anywhere.

Safe

“Dad, do you just hate everyone I date on principle, or is there, like, some perfect man out there?” Iris is sixteen and flippant, bouncing on the balls of her feet with angry energy. 

“Baby, he had it coming. He didn’t respect you,” her father says. He would say that; he’s just thrown Tyler out of the house and told him he’s not allowed back.

“He might not have been the best choice ever,” she concedes, “but when have you ever been ok with a guy I’ve liked?” She folds her arms over her chest, unwilling to give in and go upstairs until he answers.

Her father stares her down. “Iris, the reason I’m protective is that I know how much you’re worth, and I haven’t liked any of the guys you’ve brought home because none of them are anywhere near as smart as you or as driven as you or as good as you. When you finally meet the right one, it might take me a little while, but I’ll get it. Understand?”

“We might never see eye to eye on who that is,” she pushes. 

Her dad shakes his head. “I’ve got more faith in both of us than that.” Against her will, Iris melts a little bit. Truth be told, she thought Tyler was a little pushy, and she’s glad he’s not around any more. 

She steps forward and kisses her father on the cheek. “I appreciate that you’re protective, even if I don’t always like it,” she whispers. 

He wraps his arms around her and pulls her close. “Trust me, sweetheart. When the right one comes, I’ll be happier for you than anyone.”

She finally makes it upstairs and finds Barry’s door open, so she walks in. “Tyler’s gone, huh?” he asks, looking up from the giant astronomy book he’s reading. 

Iris nods. “Dad didn’t like him any more than the last three.” She sits on Barry’s bed beside him.

“Told you he was trouble,” Barry says gently, and Iris rolls her eyes. 

“Don’t you turn into Dad too.”

“Sorry,” he replies. “I just want you to be happy, and guys like Tyler don’t appreciate all of you. They don’t care about your brain, you know?”

She nods. “I know. It’s just—hard to find any other kind.”

“You will,” Barry says, putting his long arm around her. “You’ll meet somebody so great he’ll make us all jealous.”

—

Iris leans into Barry, melting like butter without even thinking about it. She looks over and catches her father’s eye, and she remembers all the boyfriends he threw out, the guys he intimidated with his “dad cop” routine. This is different. He might not be totally used to it yet, but he’s relaxed.

She can finally give him that gift, the knowledge that she’s safe—not physically; he taught her to take care of herself a long time ago. Safe in a much deeper and more profound way. Safe to live, to be herself, to thrive. It’s all he’s ever wanted for her. Of course she’s never needed another person to be complete, but they’ve both always known she wasn’t made to be alone. 

She’s part of a team now, the kind of team that keeps going no matter what happens. It might not be the most romantic way to say it, but it feels amazing to look over and know that there’s somebody who’s totally on her side, who always will be. Sometimes loud, dramatic romance isn’t as important as being able to lay your head on somebody’s shoulder and know that he’s not going anywhere.

Her father has always known that. Now Iris knows it too.

________________

It takes time. Barry can’t help feeling jumpy, at first, whenever Joe finds him kissing Iris, holding her, acting like her boyfriend. He remembers all the boys his surrogate father threw out of the house, all the dates that ended before they started. 

It takes time for him to realize he’s the exception. There’s never been anybody good enough for Iris. Joe has made that abundantly clear, over and over. Until now, when Barry doesn’t get told off for holding her hand or cuddling with her during a movie.

Of course he doesn’t get told off. He shakes his head at his own paranoia. They’re adults in their late twenties, for goodness’ sake. 

But he still feels that little jolt of fear when Joe looks over and sees, like he’s a guilty high school dork stealing kisses from his crush. You’d think it would be thrilling. It really isn’t. He just feels like a kid again.

Until the day he moves out, into Cisco’s freakishly amazing apartment. Iris is working, and Cisco is at Star Labs, so it’s Barry and Joe who load the last of his things into the huge spare bedroom. 

“There you go, Son,” says the cop, and Barry feels a huge hand on his shoulder. “I hope you know how much I’ve enjoyed having you back at the house. I don’t want you to ever think that just because you don’t live there doesn’t mean you’re not welcome.”

He shakes his head. “Of course not.”

“I gotta go. Come here.” Joe pulls him in and hugs him. “You keep loving Iris, all right? Makes me less stressed every time I think about how happy she is right now.”

Barry grins. It may take more time to be totally comfortable, but it’s okay. He’s getting there.  
________________________

Joe gets home from the last of the unload and sees a set of keys on the table. “Wally!” he calls, “let’s get a pizza or something.”

His youngest comes down the stairs, bleary-eyed and yawning. “Hey, Dad, I was up late working on a project, so I decided to get a quick nap. You guys finish the move?”

“All done,” Joe confirms. “It’s you and me now, kid.”

He’s rewarded by one of Wally’s rare grins. Wally is usually preternaturally serious, but then, just when you least expect it, he smiles the kind of smile that changes everything. It’s one of Joe’s favorite things about his newfound son.

“You sure you’re not going to miss him too much, all that perfection and stuff?”

Wally is teasing, but Joe feels the serious undercurrent underneath it. He puts his arm around his son. “I’m ready for some time with just you. I hope you can handle Cop Dad all by yourself.” Wally nods and presses closer, almost imperceptibly. 

The moment ends, but Joe remembers it for a long time, that tiny movement, that little press against him, that small indication that his youngest is finally all in, ready to belong. Moments like that are what keep Joe West going when everything in the world is turning crazy.


	66. Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm not saying you have to like him," she adds, "but it's the hardest people who need the most grace."

Grace

"I can't do it any more, Iris." Barry is sitting at the West house dining table, his shoulders taut, shaking his head with fury coming out of his eyes. "I seriously can't work with him."

Iris hands over a mug of home-brewed coffee and sits down across from him. "Exactly why are you so upset. Why does this guy get to you so much?"

"He's arrogant; he's rude; he's always trying to get me in trouble with the captain, he—"

"—acts just like the rich kids in school who used to make fun of you for having a dad in jail," she finishes softly. "He makes you feel fifteen again."

Barry sits silently for a few seconds, blinking. "That's—how did you figure that out?"

"I remember how you reacted back then," she answers. "You punched the wall outside the chemistry lab so hard you sprained your wrist. That's hard to forget, especially since you're not exactly the angry type most of the time."

Barry finally relaxes and half-smiles. "You've got my number, Iris West."

"I know," she answers readily, "but the point is, what are you going to do?"

She waits for him to answer, watching while he thinks through things in his usual thorough way. "I can't remember what I did back then. It's like it just went away, like it stopped."

Iris shakes her head. "It didn't stop, Barry. What changed is that you quit listening, quit letting them make you feel bad about yourself. You realized that it didn't matter what they thought of you as long as you had your own respect and your family's love. Nothing changed except you, but that was the most important thing."

Barry leans over the table and takes her by surprise with a kiss. "How did you get so smart?"

"By having a dad like mine," she answers seriously, but then she puts her hand on top of his and stops him. "Don't be too hard on Julian."

Barry sits back in his seat and shakes his head at her, clearly confused. "I thought you couldn't stand him either."

She gives him a long look. "Barry, you've forgiven metas who tried to destroy half the city. I love that about you. But you can be awfully blind sometimes when it comes to regular old people. It doesn't matter if somebody is a meta or not, people only hurt people because they've been hurt, and they feel like they have to lash out at somebody."

She continues, glad to see that he's listening intently. "You know, like that kid who moved in here a long time ago, who used to scream at my dad because what had happened to him was so terrible he didn't know how else to cope with it."

Barry nods. "Point taken."

"I'm not saying you have to like him," she adds, "but it's the hardest people who need the most grace."

\---

If anyone had told Barry, even two days ago, that he would find himself at a pub with Julian Albert, sharing a drink, he never would have believed it was possible. But here they are, and he takes his place across from the other man in a booth that's too big for two people.

They don't talk much until they've each had a beer, and then Julian finally looks over and fixes him with a determined stare. "Why'd you invite me out, Allen?"

Barry figures he shouldn't be surprised. Julian is nothing if not direct.

"I—um—" he searches for the right words. "You know I'm adopted, right? I mean, not fully. I was Joe West's foster kid starting when I was eleven."

"I'd heard that, yes," answers the other scientist, looking like he's about to glaze over in boredom at another Barry Allen-focused sob story. "You had a sad childhood."

"Actually," Barry answers, "it was really happy a lot of the time, even though I didn't do anything to deserve it. That's what I'm getting to. I wasn't easy," he continues matter-of-factly. "I used to run away a lot, and I would fight Joe when he came to get me. I stopped after a while, once I trusted him, but I never said sorry, because I was a kid, and my world was all about me."

"Hard to picture you being a tough kid," Julian puts in, smiling into his second drink.

"I was," Barry reiterates seriously. "I finally asked Joe about it when I got older, when I was about to graduate and go to college. I asked him why he'd put up with it all that time."

Barry rubs his sleeve across his eyes as quickly as he can. He doesn't want Julian to see how emotional the memory makes him. "He said all that stuff just made him care more, because the most difficult people are the ones hurting the most. He said the people who need grace the most are the ones who deserve it least. So he healed me instead of throwing me away."

"Not everybody turns out as well as you did, Allen," Julian shoots back quickly.

"Maybe not," says Barry, "but if you had to earn it by turning out, it wouldn't be grace."

"My family didn't have much of that," the other man says softly, his fingers twisting his paper napkin.

"Mine has enough to go around," Barry replies.

\---

Joe puts his arm around a kid who terrorized the whole city. For a lot of cops, that would be weird. They would think it was even weirder that he visits the kid in juvenile lockup every couple of days and then testifies on his behalf at his hearing. It's mostly because of Detective West's testimony, says the state attorney, that they offer the boy a deal with time served, five years of probation, and mandatory therapy. Joe gets a hug so hard it nearly knocks him down on the way out of the courtroom.

But Joe West is not a lot of cops. They would not have taken a murder victim's son home and tucked him into bed every night. They would not have lasted through the night terrors and the running and the fighting. They would have given up a million times on the road to raising Barry Allen.

But Joe West didn't become a cop for the easy cases. He didn't take the badge to be an avenging angel or an apathetic pencil pusher. He took it because he wanted to help the people who needed it most, and he'd learned early on that often, the uglier the behavior, the bigger the hurt that had caused it.

"I love you, Barry Allen." Joe sits with his hand on the teenage perp's shoulder, before any of it goes down, not knowing what will happen, and he remembers. In his mind's eye he sees himself with tears in his eyes and hears himself yelling the words because the little boy was screaming, kicking, trying to get out of his grasp. "I love you, Barry Allen," he'd said it over and over until he was hoarse, not letting go of the little boy until Barry's body had finally tired out, and he'd gone limp in Joe's grasp.

Pure grace, that's what it had been. Back then, he hadn't known if it would ever make a difference, and he doesn't know if his intervention will mean anything to the kid he's comforting now.

Joe looks up and sees his surrogate son bagging crime scene evidence. He notices Joe watching him and nods, smiling. It's a reminder. The detective pats the distraught teenager next to him on the back one more time. Grace is worth it. If he ever doubts that, all he has to do is look in the eyes of Barry Allen.


	67. Spending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He finally understands why it was so hard for Joe to accept his own powers, why his surrogate dad still worries every time he goes after a threat. You don't outgrow that kind of concern; there's no way you ever could.

Spending

"Iris, are you okay?" Barry asks. They're both taking a very brief break from cocoon duty, letting Caitlin and Cisco watch over Wally for a few short minutes.

"I—punched my brother," she answers readily, sitting next to him on the edge of the Star Labs desk bank, searching his face to see how he'll take it.

Barry puts a long arm around her. "Iris, you probably saved his life."

She nods. "I don't regret it. I just wish I hadn't had to. If he wakes up and remembers, I'm scared he's going to decide to hate us again. He's already furious at my dad and I for trying to keep him from getting powers."

Barry nods. "He's going to wake up and be fine, and he may hate you for a little bit, Iris. But take it from a guy who used to hate you sometimes, it's not going to last."

"When did you ever hate me?" Iris asks, intrigued, scooting closer and taking his right hand in hers so she can play with his thin fingers.

He turns and smiles at her. "Every time you ratted me out to Joe, I hated you until I realized you were doing it because it was the best thing for me."

"And how long did that take?"

Barry shrugs, "usually until you barged into my room and changed my mind for me." Even in the middle of the uncertainty in the lab, those words make Iris laugh. She rests her head on his shoulder for a brief moment, closing her eyes.

"So you're saying I should tell Wally what to think?"

"Nah, I'm just saying that nobody you love could ever stay mad at you, Iris. It's going to be all right. That's a promise."

\---

Barry hopes he's right. He's never known what it was like to have a younger sibling, to worry about someone the way he now worries about Wally. Star Labs is full of family, but it's a family of equals. With Wally, it's different.

When he looks at the youngest West, Barry sees a too-breakable body, a risk-taker, a kid. He finally understands why it was so hard for Joe to accept his own powers, why his surrogate dad still worries every time he goes after a threat. You don't outgrow that kind of concern, there's no way you ever could.

Joe is headed to the precinct, so Barry calls him from next to the cocoon that holds Wally's body. "Son?" says the voice on the other end. "Did something happen with Wally?"

"No," Barry answers. "I just—wanted to thank you. No matter what happens with Savitar, I want you to know I get it. If you worry about me the way I'm worrying about Wally right now, then I'm—even luckier than I've ever realized. And I'm going to do everything I can to make sure he's safe."

"Gotta go. I'm at the precinct," Joe answers, sounding bone tired. "But I love you, Bear. And thanks."

\---

It's ironic. Even as Joe heads in to interrogate Alchemy's acolyte, he knows that what he's just heard is pretty profound, but he has no time to process it.

To Joe, it's not the powers or the number of birthdays or the moving out that signals maturity. It's being able to take the care you've been given and give it to somebody else in turn. It's knowing how to spend yourself on behalf of someone who's weaker than you are.

As he turns to go into the interrogation room, Joe lets himself almost smile. It's a dark day, but he feels a surge of pride.


	68. The Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not the frost on the outside that kills; it's the cold within.

The Cold

It's not the frost on the outside that hurts the most; it's the cold within.

Iris is cold. She tosses and turns, but she can't burrow deep enough into her covers. She wishes her mommy was here. Mommy would always check on her, bring her another blanket. But Mommy is gone.

Iris cries, quietly. She's little, but she knows things. She understands that Daddy is tired, that she shouldn't wake him up. Ever since Mommy went away, she's known she shouldn't bother him. Even kids figure some things out.

"Iris, Baby, what's wrong?" Her door opens, and the light comes on. Her dad is in the doorway. He rushes over.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," she says softly. "I tried to be quiet."

He picks her up, pulls her close, cuddles her in his lap on the edge of her bed. "You're freezing. Why didn't you come and get me?"

She can't answer; she doesn't know how to explain. She just shakes her head against his shoulder and relaxes in the warm safety of his embrace.

Her daddy carries her to his room and tucks her into bed underneath his thick quilt. She falls asleep with his big hand on her thin back, warming her body and making the cold inside a little warmer too.

\---

It's not the frost on the outside that kills; it's the cold within.

Barry remembers what it was like to go to bed warm on the outside but freezing on the inside, tossing and turning because his emotions were stuck in endless winter. He also remembers how it felt when the people who had chosen to love him had finally broken through the ice.

He locks eyes with his friend, the woman whose mind is hidden under a veneer of ice, and he bets his life on the same thing Joe and Iris once bet on—that there's still a warm heart, hidden deep within, that can be unfrozen.

He wraps his arms around her, warming her freezing body and holding her tightly until the warmth penetrates into her soul.

\---

It's not the frost on the outside that's painful; it's the cold within.

Joe West puts on his overcoat against the winter cold, leaving the precinct and walking to his car through the swirling fog. He's going home to an empty house. Wally is with friends, and Barry and Iris are at their apartments. He's not a man who's given to self-pity and rumination, but he can't help the feeling of cold loneliness in his heart, like an icicle piercing his chest. He knows it won't be long before they're all gone and married, with families of their own.

"Joe, will you walk me to my car?" He looks back and finds the small, determined figure of Ceclie coming toward him.

He smiles. "I thought you left ages ago."

She shakes her head. "Too much to do." He holds out his arm, and she takes it. "What are your plans for tonight? Doing things with the kids?"

"No," he answers, "not tonight."

"Got time for me?" Her beautiful eyes stare him down.

"Sure do," he answers, unable to help the grin spreading across his face. She lets go of his arm so she can take his hand, and he feels her fingers close around his, warm and secure.

They walk together, and even though the night brings a bone-chilling wind to whip around them, he feels warmth creep through his insides until he's glowing with the happiness of having the small woman by his side.


	69. Protective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When you love somebody, you worry about them. That's how it goes. You never get too old for that."

Protective

Iris has never realizes how much like her father she is until she finds herself asking someone to conceal the truth to keep her brother safe. Suddenly, her journalistic and personal commitment to honesty feels relative, because she knows that as soon as Wally finds out how powerful he truly is, that will be the end of ever holding him back.

She finally understands, really understands, why her father told her her mother was dead, why he tried to block her from becoming a cop. She gets it now, and that makes her feel uncomfortable. That's why, when the alien threat is over, Joe is the one she seeks out, not her brother or her lover.

"Dad?" She walks into the CCPD after hours; he's the only one left working, not that that's unusual.

"Hi, Baby, are you okay?" he asks, looking up and smiling, the way he always smiles when he sees her coming.

"Yeah, I'm fine, but I wanted to talk to you without Barry or Wally around."

"Sure," he says, getting up and pulling a metal chair over from another desk. "What's on your mind?"

Iris sits down beside him and hands over a cup of coffee. "I get it, Dad. I understand why you've been so protective of me and Barry all these years. I know why you lied about Mom."

Her father blinks, but he doesn't look away. "What happened?"

"I get it because I'm exactly the same way. Wally is—he's powerful, and I'm scared, and as soon as I think something might happen to him, I turn into this crazy person who's willing to do anything to keep him from taking risks, even if it means lying or locking him up. I'm just like you."

Her father nods. "I've known that for a long time, ever since you punched that kid who was bullying Barry in fifth grade."

Iris smiles, remembering, but she quickly turns serious again. "I don't want my love for Wally or Barry or even you to turn into something ugly."

"You don't want to be as overprotective as I am," Joe interprets drily.

Iris looks over at him quickly. "I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean—" but her father puts his hand up to stop her.

"Baby, I know I go overboard. I've been working on it for a lot of years. I'm still trying to get better."

"How?" Iris asks simply, leaning closer and resting her head on her father's shoulder.

Joe takes her hand in his. "Sweetheart, you have to realize that no matter what you do, bad things happen. As soon as you protect somebody from one thing, something else happens that you couldn't predict. You can try to control everybody and everything, but eventually, that just makes the people you love resent you."

He kisses her forehead. "Iris, protection doesn't mean keeping everything bad from happening. It means being somebody's safe place they can come back to when they need to heal. It's like when you were learning to ride your bike. I couldn't protect you from falling, or you'd never have learned how to ride. What you needed was somebody to run back to when you scraped your knee."

Iris nods. "I'll try. Thanks, Dad." She gets up to leave and hugs the tired-looking man beside her.

"I'll try if you will," he says, smiling. "Easier said than done."

She turns back to him before she leaves the building. "Dad, Barry and I know that you've always protected us because you love us. Don't you ever forget that."

\---

Barry Allen hears a knock at his door, and he hunches into himself on his bed.

"Bear, is it okay if I come in?" The twelve-year-old doesn't want to see the cop, but he's too scared to say no.

"Yeah," he answers weakly.

The door opens and Joe comes inside. He sits down on the bed, but he doesn't touch the little boy or get too close. "Son, I understand if you're mad at me. I shouldn't have yelled at you, and I'm sorry."

Barry turns confused eyes on his foster father. He's been with the Wests for a few months, and he definitely doesn't expect Joe West to apologize to him for anything. Joe is the one in charge.

"I mean it, Bear," the man continues. "You didn't do anything wrong. You went to play with your friends, and you told Iris to tell me. It's not your fault she forgot. I shouldn't have freaked out when I saw you, and I was wrong to embarrass you in front of those guys. Do you want to know why I did it?"

Barry nods, still wide-eyed with surprise at the unexpected way things are going. "I was scared. Ever since you moved in with us, I've worried about you, just like I worry about Iris. I don't want anything to happen to you, and when I don't know where you are, it scares me to death. I let that get the better of me today, and I really hope you can forgive me."

"You were scared?" Barry scoots a little closer to the tall cop.

"Sure was." Joe puts an arm around him. Barry doesn't mind any more. "When you love somebody, you worry about them. That's how it goes. You never get too old for that." The little boy nods and doesn't speak again, but he relaxes in the crook of Joe West's arm, and he's glad that his foster dad doesn't leave his room for a long time.

\---

Joe checks his phone after interrogating a perp and smiles to himself at the text notifications.

Dad, I'm home. See you tomorrow. Love, Iris

I'm in for the night. Bear

Just got home. I'll wait up for you. Wally

They're all adults, but he still worries. He still wants to protect them just as much as he ever did, but he settles for the satisfaction of knowing they're all safe for one more night.


End file.
